


A Twining in Connemara

by ourqs



Category: AU Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Blood Play, Dubious Consent, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, NSFW, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourqs/pseuds/ourqs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many seductive secrets nestled in the storm-tossed emerald green hills of western Ireland.  Felicity Dolan is about to fall directly into the arms of one of them, a man as rough, as remote, and as much a revelation as the land itself.</p><p>While I have borrowed the name, voice and mannerisms of our beloved Tom Hiddleston, my Thomas is his own person, with his own set of quirks, flaws and strengths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sky darkened, and the rain poured steadier in tandem, as her hands sought purchase on the slippery rocks. She bit her lip and huffed an exasperated breath as she tried desperately to wrench her shoulder toward her eyes to clear the raindrops from her vision. She hadn't meant to choose such a steep incline when the time came for her to ascend from the rocky beach, but neither had she properly judged the danger until she was halfway up the cliff face; turning around now would surely be just as dangerous as continuing toward the top.

The Irish waters of the Atlantic, cold, gray and unforgiving were at her back, and rising up above her head was a nearly endless expanse of sodden stone, vast green hills peeking their heads just into her view. The truth of the matter was, Felicity had taken a wrong turn hours ago, and having long since lost the familiar landscape of town, she had no idea where she was. The beach, hills, and the endless rain were all she could see now, and they all looked the same.

Exactly the same.

Felicity tried to squash the steadily rising panic in her gut, swallowing against the bile that was creeping into her throat, as she closed her eyes and hugged the cliff face, trying to sort out her next move. She was cold, soaked, and her muscles were beginning to tremble with fear and fatigue in equal measure. Tiny pebbles began to stir under her feet, and her father's words came to her then, the thick Irish brogue clear as the day he'd spoken them, so many years ago:

_Don't climb in the rain at all, love, if ye can help it. The rocks'll come down on your head sure as they'll hold you steady. But if you must, find your hold certain and true, and don't stop until the grass is 'neath your back and the sky above yer head._

The sky flashed and almost immediately thunder began to rumble, a low, angry growl that made her hair stand on end and goosebumps spread down her back. “Goddamn it all to hell,” she swore, before taking a deep breath turning her face toward the sky, looking for her next handhold. She blinked angrily against the stinging onslaught of the rain, before she felt her foot begin to slip, and, gathering all of her remaining strength, she gave one last shove, reaching blindly above her head.

She found nothing but thin air.

Felicity swung out wildly with a shriek, but she knew before the sound even left her mouth that it was pointless, a sound that no one but the crashing waves and howling wind would ever hear. Her feet began to slip further, as her legs, now shaking uncontrollably, refused to support her, just as her other hand lost its grip, she was grabbed by a pair of strong arms and hauled unceremoniously upward.

By the time Felicity's mind had sorted through the fact that she wasn't falling to certain death on the rocks beneath her, she was abruptly released and her legs gave way, sending her tumbling to her knees. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and flowed freely, as she began to breathe; quick, shallow breaths coming faster and faster, her heart racing, and her head spinning. She curled in on herself and turned to the side, closing her eyes as she settled on her back, forcing herself back under control.

 _One breath in, one breath out. You can feel the ground. The sky is there too, that's for certain. You're all right now. Everything is fine as can be._ She brought her hand up over her face in a lame attempt to shield herself from the rain. _Whoever saved you is out there too, you know. Her brow furrowed underneath her hand. You should probably thank him, instead of laying here like an ungrateful sow. He's probably wishing he could throw you back, save himself a fair bit of trouble._ Felicity clenched her hand into a fist, reeling from the tension bubbling underneath her skin. _Felicity Dolan, for fuck's sake. He's not wishing he'd never saved you, but he might be a bit put off if you don't at least say thank you. Now stand up and have some dignity, before you embarrass yourself any worse than you already have._

“You know,” a voice, rich and resplendent, rough and resentful, came from above her, “if you had designs on laying here, looking like some sort of drowning cat, you could just as well have stayed home.” Her eyes snapped open and an angry retort bubbled up, only to fall silent as her eyes fell upon her rescuer. He was tall, ginger haired with a thick stubble gracing his face. His clothes did little hide his sinewy, lithe frame, and his blue eyes flashed with irritation and barely concealed fury.

She waited a heartbeat for him to extend his hand to her to pull her from the ground, and when he didn't, she rose stiffly to her feet, running her hands nervously over her clothes. “I..I'm..” She opened and closed her mouth a few times as she searched for words. “Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted, making no attempt to hide his disgust. “No need at all to thank me, girl. I didn't do this for you.”

“No, I mean, I know you didn't,” Felicity tried hastily to reassure him. “You'd do the same for any stranger, I'd bet.”

“Any other person would have known they had no business up here in weather like this in the first place,” he shook his head dismissively. “I knew you'd never make it up to the top, I'm astounded that you got as far as you did.”

Felicity blushed, her cheeks warming slightly against the frigid rain. “My father taught me, when I was young, he--”

The man cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I'm astounded that you didn't use the tiniest bit of sense and turn around. I should be thanking you, in truth, I never dreamed I'd have occasion to come across someone so stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed as she pulled her flannel shirt tightly around her, folding her arms across her chest. “If you were watching me, all high and mighty and sure of yourself, why didn't you say anything? Have a fancy to watch me fall to my death, do you?”

He rolled his eyes again, jaw clenched in annoyance. “Save the dramatics, girl, you're no worse for wear. In fact, if you'd just get yourself on your way, we'd both be better off.”

“On my way where?” Felicity gestured around at the open space. “I don't even know where I am, let alone how I should find my way home.”

A falsely sympathetic click of his tongue, and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Not my problem. You're the one who's trespassing here, and I'm under no call to make it any easier.”

The sky lit up again, a jagged strike cutting across the sky, sending a ghastly gray-green glow across the landscape. “Can you at least point me in the direction of town? Storm's getting worse.”

Felicity's rescuer took a step closer to her, wresting her arms from around her middle before sliding his hand underneath the hem of her shirt, tickling his fingers up toward her breasts. His touch was hot and sure against her skin, the heel of his hand pressing against her abdomen. She stood frozen in shock as he fisted her shirt in his grip, drawing her body against his. He leaned down, breathing hot against the damp skin on her neck, as he brought his face to her ear. “If you stay nearby, love,” he growled, “storm would be much, much worse.”

She yanked away from him in indignation, setting her shirt to rights as she made her hasty retreat. “You know what?” She was seething, her teeth clenched in fury, and she made no effort to conceal it from him. “Never you mind. I found my way here just fine on my own, and I can certainly find my way back without any sort of help from you.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged at her, not phased in the slightest. “Where was it you found your way from, exactly?”

“Clifden,” Felicity muttered, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. “What's it to you?”

He grinned at her, white teeth in sharp contrast to the gray sky. “Not a single blasted thing to me at all.” He ruffled his fingers through his hair, shaking water droplets into her face. “Seems like it might be a great deal to you though, love.” He turned his back to her, and began to walk, his long, lanky stride carrying him away from her at an alarming speed. “You're in Erislannan now. Not exactly far, but I'd be careful setting back without knowing where you're going. A wrong turn could have you lost for a good long while.”

She followed him instinctively, rushing to catch up. “What are you doing out here anyway, if it's such a trial to get back?” She raised her voice, struggling to make sure that she could be heard over the roar of the wind, and the thunder which never seemed to quiet. “If we're so far from anything at all, surely there's nothing for you here.”

The man's pace quickened, and he rounded a sloping green hill, his auburn hair abruptly disappearing from view. Felicity felt a brief surge of panic as she sloshed through the mud and rain soaked grass, and she fought to make her feet carry her faster, before she lost him completely. As she reached the spot where he'd vanished from sight, she followed his course, and suddenly stopped short. The hills parted, and nestled into a tiny little valley was a small stone cottage, tucked away as if it had sprung up along with the landscape, a haven which had always been there, and could never exist anywhere else.

He stood at the door, facing her dead on, eyebrow cocked in challenge. “I live here.”

“Nobody lives here...” she began uncertainly. “Not this far out. There's nothing here. Nothing except...”

“Just me.” He leaned his back against the heavy wooden door, and began to shed his clothing; first came his sweater, which he flung over a dark brown weathered shutter. A white tee followed shortly after, and Felicity watched in rapt attention as his broad, chiseled chest came into view. When he reached for the button on his jeans, and slowly began to peel the wet denim from his legs, she whirled to face away from him. “Haven't you any shame at all?” She hissed, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“Shame?” She didn't even have to turn around to hear the mocking in his voice. “Why's that, did you see something that I should be ashamed of?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her palms against them to cool them. “No,” she muttered sullenly.

“Well then. That settles that, I'd imagine.” He pushed open the door. “Are you coming in?”

Felicity dropped her head in her hands, and tried to think, to visualize the maps she'd seen of the countryside. She was a good distance away from town, he'd been right about that. Any other day, and she'd be happy to take her chances, but in this rain, and with the thick cloud of fatigue settling over her, she had her doubts. One false step, and she'd be sliding down the rocks, plummeting toward the ocean below, only this time, there'd be no cantankerous stranger to pull her upward. She wasn't sure, however, that stepping inside this displaced little cottage would fare her much better. Her would-be host hadn't been exactly welcoming, and she couldn't say for certain which was worse- the fate which had the potential to befall her outside, or the one that might happen within.

Lost so deeply in thought, Felicity didn't hear the man move into step behind her. “I'm not in the habit of waiting on people, love,” he rumbled into her ear. “I'd just as soon lock up my doors as look at you, but I'll let you wait it out inside, if you must.” He laughed, a mirthless, bitter laugh that didn't do anything to allay Felicity's nerves. “You're not afraid, are you?”

She turned her head toward him meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “Do I look afraid?”

The blue in his eyes burned bright, flaring angrily before he took a long blink to settle himself. “You don't. You should.”

Felicity turned toward the doorway of his cottage, before kicking off her boots and tossing them to the side. “What's your name? If you're going to insist I fear you, I ought to at least know the name of my tormentor.”

She was very likely imagining it, but she'd thought she saw the corners of his mouth flick up in amusement, just for a moment. “Thomas.”

“Well then, Thomas,” she said, pulling the braid from her hair, and letting it fall, dripping, fiery red around her shoulders. She tilted her head to the side, and squeezed it, sending a flood of rainwater to the ground, as she refused to look away from him. “Nice of you to act a gentleman, offer me shelter.”

His jaw clenched in annoyance, and he scoffed, shaking his head. “Nice has nothing to do with it. If you fell to your death in these hills, they'd be crawling with Gardai, and as you may have guessed, you wretched little stray, I do like my privacy.”

“Privacy,” Felicity mused. “That's an excellent point. Do you think, maybe, you might be able to help me with a bit of my own?”

“Jesus Christ”, Thomas muttered. “You're a rather demanding little thing, aren't you?” She raised her eyebrows in response. “I'll get you a blanket. Don't move. I'll not have you making an inconvenience of yourself anymore than you already have already.”

Felicity waited for a few heartbeats, shivering on the stoop before Thomas' hand shot out, clutching a green and brown tattered quilt, and as soon as she took it, he slammed the door in her face. Felicity sighed, and began to remove her clothing, tossing it aside before she wrapped the blanket tightly over her shoulders. “Yes, Thomas,” she murmured. “Don't mind me, I'll just let myself in...” She placed her palm against the door, took a deep breath, and pushed.


	2. Chapter 2

Felicity's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim inside the cottage, the only light in the room the gray-green beams filtering through the tightly drawn shutters. Thomas was in the far corner behind the bed, pulling a tattered pair of sweatpants over his hips. As she looked around, her first impression of the room was that it was sparse and Spartan; after a moment, she realized that from where she stood, she could see the household in its entirety. A heartbeat more, and it occurred to her that she was more than likely seeing his life in its entirety. It suddenly seemed too invasive somehow, too personal to be glancing so freely around Thomas' home, and she cast her eyes quickly to the floor.

Until her respectful resolve was broken by the muted glow reflecting from the edge of the massive polished copper tub she could just see tucked away in a corner. She was vaguely aware of her reluctant host moving to the kitchen, but just as he seemed perfectly content to ignore her presence, she was happy equally to ignore his. She tightened the blanket over her shoulders and leaned toward the gleaming metal basin, losing herself in the daydream of submerging herself in a long, hot bath while she waited out the storm.

The cottage was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was more plucked from the pages of a fairy tale than raised from wood and stone, and it was perfect in its simplicity and straightforward structure. Another glance to the left, one to the right, and Felicity was in love.

“Blasted fucking thing,” Thomas swore abruptly, yanking her from her reverie and making her flinch and yelp in surprise. He slammed the oven door closed with a force that threatened to knock it from its hinges. “Fat lot of good you do me. You're not worth the trouble it takes to keep you running.”

 _Clearly_ , Felicity thought wryly, _fairy tale though the cottage may be, there'd be no dashing prince at the end of this story._ “Maybe if you didn't beat it to hell and back, you'd be better off,” she grumbled, toeing a tentative step to join him in the kitchen. She swallowed a sigh as the heat that radiated from the stout iron belly bled into her still damp limbs, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before continuing. “I'd be happy to take a look at it, if you like.”

Thomas snorted in derision. “Have at it then, if you think you're so well versed.” He gave her a wide berth as he moved to the wearied oaken table and sat down, leaning back on his chair legs to watch her.

Felicity hitched up her blanket up, huffing in irritation. “I don't suppose you have something I could wear?”

“Do I look like I run a bloody shop?” Thomas' raised eyebrows told Felicity that he was not expecting an answer. “Take what I give you, or take yourself home.”

“Fine,” Felicity snapped, grabbing a towel from the table and opening the stove door, closing her eyes against the warm gentle breeze that blew over her cheeks. “You know, it wouldn't kill you to use some newspaper in here.” Nudging the charred logs aside with the rusted fireplace poker to unearth the dying embers, she peered back over her shoulder. “Don't suppose you have something like that?”

Thomas' only response was a grunt and a sharp jerk of his head toward the corner, where a pile of old newsprint lay yellowing, all but forgotten. Felicity sighed, and picked up a stack of crinkling paper, crumpling the pages to balls before tossing them inside. Before too long the fire was glowing brightly once more, and the warm, sweet aroma of baking bread which had been tantalizing her since she set foot in the door became impossible to ignore. “Wouldn't kill you either to have a little finesse, you know,” she muttered sullenly, “in more ways than one.”

“Finesse?” Thomas jeered in fury, as his fist hit the surface of the wood, sending the bowl he'd laid out skittering across the tabletop. “You're lucky I opened my door to you at all.”

Felicity slowly let out the breath she'd been holding, hissing in annoyance through her teeth. _One, two, three. It'll do you no good to make him angry, especially since you've nowhere to go_. “The food sure smells good...” she offered, her voice careful and even. “Do you think I could trouble you for a bite?” She gazed hopefully at Thomas' back as he moved to the stove, ladling chunks of savory beef, potatoes and onions into his dish before pulling the fragrant loaf from the belly of the iron oven.

“Why wouldn't you?” Thomas snarled. “Been troubling me without a worry since you showed up here.”

“I didn't show up anywhere, I...” Felicity bit back her harsh words, though she longed to let loose the razor-fine edge of her tongue. _Four, five, six._ “I'm happy to get it myself, if you could just show me where you keep your other bowls...?”

“Don't have another,” Thomas' mouth was already full, stew slopping over the side of the crockery as he spooned it into his mouth while he returned to his chair. “Got a plate though.”

“That's fine, I'll make do.” A few minutes later, and Felicity had a plate of steaming meat and vegetables in one hand, a large chunk of bread in the other. She hesitated for a moment in front of the other empty chair, but when Thomas made no move to stop her, she kicked it out with one foot, and sat gingerly, perched on the edge, blanket tucked securely underneath her. “Do you maybe have a fork, or a spoon, or a...?” she trailed off awkwardly as she realized she already knew the answer.

Thomas still refused to meet her gaze as he chewed on a large chunk of carrot. “Nope,” he enunciated the word slowly, carefully, as if he were speaking to someone who he did not expect to understand.

Felicity's eyes narrowed in disbelief, and she cocked her head to the side, studying him suspiciously. “You don't have one?”

“Not one for you to use.” Thomas smirked into his bowl, careless and condescending.

 _Seven, eight, nine._ Felicity swallowed the fury bubbling from her chest before she spoke, her voice brimming with tension. “Do you make a habit of asking people into your home just to torment them? How do you get on?”

Thomas took a long draught from his cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Get on just fine.”

And with that, Felicity's tenuous hold on her self-control snapped; she shoved her chair back from the table and rose to her feet, leaning toward the man across, angrily pointing her finger in his face. “Give me a goddamn spoon, Thomas. Or so help me, I will take yours.”

Thomas' eyebrow shot up in surprise, but he made no move to rise from his chair. “You're quite welcome to try.” He popped another bite of meat in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully, finally bringing his stormy gaze to meet hers. “What's your name, then?”

“Felicity.” Her sigh was loaded with defeat as she slid plucked a potato from her plate, hissing as the scorching liquid bit at her fingertips. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Trying to eat my dinner in silence.” Thomas' reply was pointed and harsh, as he leveled a venomous glare at her.

Unfazed, Felicity tore a piece of bread from her hunk, and sopped up the broth threatening to slide from the edge of her plate. “I'd imagine so. But I mean, why do you live out here, in a place like this? I'm assuming you built it?”

Thomas gifted Felicity with a curt nod, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “You assume correctly.”

Felicity spread her hands, eyebrows raised in question. “So?”

“So, what, you impertinent girl?” The muscles in Thomas' arms rippled as he tightened his fists in ill-concealed irritation. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together in a way that should have set Felicity on edge; she only found that it increased her curiosity.

“So why are you here?” She knew she was pressing her luck- every muscle in her body was brimming with tension, a sure sign that she should seek some sort of reprieve, but she stubbornly pressed forward.

“I'm here because people never could mind their own fucking business.” Thomas' spoon clattered in his bowl as he dropped it into what remained of his dinner, brown liquid sloshing across the table. He swore under his breath, before picking up his dishes and dumping them in a washbasin; he continued to mutter to himself as he wrenched open the door and set the tub just over the threshold before ducking back inside out of the rain. Slamming the door shut, he wheeled on her, stalking toward where she sat frozen in her chair. “First light,” he seethed. “sun, rain or... hell... bloody fire raining from the sky. You're gone.”  
  
Felicity held two hands up in front of her in a clear gesture of reconciliation. “Maybe we should just wait and--”

Thomas rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust before moving away from her toward the bed. “There'll be no waiting, girl. You've quite overstayed your welcome as it is.” He wrenched the blankets back, and shoved his sweats to the floor, before sliding completely nude between the sheets. If he saw Felicity's blush in the waning light, he didn't let on, nor did he give any indication that he was concerned about where she lay her head.

Felicity stared at him, twin coils of awkward unease and persistent curiosity continuing to worm their way through her body and brain. “You're a peculiar man, Thomas,” she breathed at last. “I daresay there isn't another like you in the wide world over.” She turned back to gaze morosely at the remaining food on her plate, flicking her fingertips over the thick, brown broth. She swallowed down her bilious misery, fighting against her the churn in her stomach. Failing to settle herself, she shoved the cooling stew away.

“No.” Thomas' reply was clipped, and muffled by blankets, but she could hear him clearly all the same. She wasn't at all sure, however, if she was imagining the faint tinge of regret. “I'd say it's a fair bet there isn't.”

The sound of the relentless raindrops on the roof of Thomas' cottage did nothing to temper the strained and uncomfortable quiet within. Felicity could tell by the tension in Thomas' shoulders that he was nowhere close to sleep, but she could also just as easily tell that he was not open to any further conversation. The last rays of light faded, leaving her alone at the table, straining her eyes to see through the inky blackness. _Could be worse_ , she thought to herself, dropping her head into her hands. _Could be miserable outside, rather than miserable inside._ Heaving a great sigh, she stood, and careful not to spill the remains of her dinner on the floor, she tiptoed her way to the front door and added her plate to the pile of dirty dishes just outside. Turning around and pulling the door closed behind her, she stared hesitantly toward the bed. Thomas hadn't given her any options for sleeping arrangements. And at present, nothing sounded less appealing than climbing into bed with him. Moving quietly across the room, she found her way to Thomas' side, where she stopped, held her breath, and waited.

After a few long moments, Thomas huffed an exaggerated sigh. “What do you want?” His voice was low, dark and dangerous, brimming with warning.

“I don't know where I'm supposed to sleep,” she cursed herself inwardly, hating the meekness in her own voice. “It's not like you gave me any choices.”

He snorted at her, refusing to turn. “What makes you think I care?”

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, determined not to be thwarted by his hostility. “I just... I wasn't sure if you meant for me to sleep in the bed, or...”

“I mean for you to sleep in your bed.” Thomas shifted on the bed and sat upright just then, as if he were considering how much trouble it would be to send her to find it immediately.

Felicity scowled at him, not caring a whit if he could see her face or not. “Well, since I obviously can't do that...”

Her words were cut off suddenly by Thomas' hand snapping out in the darkness and grabbing her forearm, his grip unyielding against her skin “Let's get this clear,” he bristled. “I don't care what you do. I don't care where you go. I don't care at all what happens to you.”

She tore her arm away from his grasp and backed away from where he sat, turning just in time to jab her leg against the solid wooden steamer trunk that sat at the foot of his bed. “Goddamn it!” she swore, rubbing at the throbbing pain. “You don't care what I do?” Felicity spat the words with all of the force she could muster. “Then give me a blasted candle or whatever you use for light in this hovel. As soon as it's light enough for me to see my hand in front of my face, I'll be on my way.”

Thomas' voice was deathly quiet and he made no move at all to help her. “As if I'd waste so much as one single drop of wax on you, you vile little thing. Get in the bed before you kill yourself, you've no chance at getting the hell out of here if you can't walk.”

Felicity felt around the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain in her calf. When she found the undisturbed side, she tightened the spare quilt she wore around her middle before cautiously moving underneath the sheets, careful not to touch her bristling bunkmate. Before long, his breathing had slowed and quieted, and with a fading grunt, he was asleep. Felicity screwed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the sound of the raindrops hitting the roof, the whistle of the wind whipping through the grass. But she was unable to quiet the tumult rumbling through her gut; relaxation seemed impossible, let alone sleep. So instead, she let her mind wander.

_Was he some sort of criminal? Doesn't seem so far fetched._

_A tortured artist? No...not a thing in this house to encourage the indulgence of idle pursuits, let alone soothe a soul plagued by them._  
  
_Could he just be gone in the head?_

That last seemed most likely, but there was something about the laser sharp precision in his eyes when he looked at her that gave her pause. She couldn't put her finger on it, exactly, but she knew there was more- likely far more- to Thomas than the irascible man snoring softly next to her.

Her eyes were still wide open when the first streaks of muted violet began to peek through the shutters; she chanced a quick glance at Thomas, half expecting to see him sitting upright, pointed finger extended toward the front door. But he was still sleeping soundly, blanket slid down to his waist, one arm crooked above his head, resting on the pillow, the other hand laying softly on his stomach.

_He's not bad to look at when he's not scowling at me..._

That was the last real thought Felicity remembered having before she closed her eyes and floated, overcome by tension and exhaustion.

Thomas rolled over onto his side away from the window, covering his eyes with his forearm to shield them from the amber light poking through the shutters. The warmth of his bed beckoned, and he drifted, ribbons of auburn and gold painting their way across his vision. His brow furrowed as his brain registered the unfamiliar scent of sweet, tangy citrus, blending into fading earthy aroma of cloves and salt. Cracking open his eyelids, he saw his wayward guest fast asleep, her hair curling invitingly across his pillow. Her back was to him, one leg dislodged from her blanket cocoon and hooked haphazardly over the plush pile of quilts. She gave a quiet little sigh, and rolled to her stomach, tendrils of her hair burning his cheek like fire as she moved.

Flinging the blankets back, Thomas leapt from the bed as if he'd been scalded. “I thought I told you to get out of here!”

Felicity sat upright with a jerk, rubbing the bits of sleep from her eyes. He strode across the house, unashamed in the wake of his fury. The front door slammed open, and she could just see the slightest glimpse of him pulling his clothes from where he'd left them to dry the night before. “Go home, Felicity!” His voice was resonant with vitriol as he stomped away from the house. “And may you never find your way back here!”

Felicity shifted on the bed and pulled her blanket back over her shoulders as she looked around the room and found herself completely and utterly alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many seductive secrets nestled in the storm-tossed emerald green hills of western Ireland. Felicity Dolan is about to fall directly into the arms of one of them, a man as rough, as remote, and as much a revelation as the land itself.
> 
> While I have borrowed the name, voice and mannerisms of our beloved Tom Hiddleston, my Thomas is his own person, with his own set of quirks, flaws and strengths.

For a long moment Felicity sat motionless in the center of the bed with her eyes fixed on the door, entirely certain that Thomas would return at any second, freshly honed fury raining from his lips. She gently rubbed her fingers over the worn quilt, tracing long, intricate paths over the patterns woven into the dull brown and faded green fabric. She fingered the tiny, meticulous stitches, struck by their intricacy and perfection; her touch followed a particularly striking swirl of sewing, when it came to rest on a small heart lovingly sewn into the bottom corner, the initials “TWH” embroidered within. Felicity's cheeks flamed with the embarrassment of the discovery, but she couldn't stop the thought that passed through her head, unbidden and unwelcome, but insistent all the same.

 _Somebody loved this man, once upon a time_.

Guiltily, she let the blanket fall from her hands and closed her eyes, listening for any indication that he was outside, waiting for her. When she neither heard nor saw him, she took a deep breath and, steeling herself for the rancorous reproach which would surely follow, she called his name.

“Thomas?” Felicity shifted nervously on the mattress as she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. It wouldn't provide an impenetrable shield, to be sure, but anything was better than facing him with nothing. She could hear the sound of the waves, roaring and relentless as they crashed against the cliffs in angry assault. She could hear the cry of the gulls calling to each other as they rode the wind toward the sea, delighting in the way its frigid gusts rippled across the grass. She could hear her steady breathing, far too loud in the deafening silence of Thomas' cottage, and try as she might to settle it, she was all too aware of the pounding beat of her racing heart.

Thomas, however, made no reply at all.

 _I can't believe he's going to sit out there and sulk._ Felicity rolled her eyes and snorted softly in derision. _He's the one who allowed me here; the least he could do is make sure I know my way home before I go._

“Thomas!” Her call was sharper this time, her irritation buzzing beneath the surface of her skin, leaving her ill-tempered and impatient. “Where the devil have you gone?”

Silence.

With an irritated huff, Felicity slid determinedly from the bed carefully moving the folds of the quilt out of her path. She strode angrily toward the door, thrusting her hand forward as if to grab the wood and yank it open. Her fingers had just come to rest on the unfinished surface of the wood when she paused, all at once certain that Thomas was not the sort of man who would welcome sudden interruptions. _This is utterly absurd._ She closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sky, offering a silent plea to the universe for patience. She closed her hands into fists before taking a deep breath, then forced them open one finger at a time as she tried to settle the rage which threatened to spill from her, the words bubbling behind her lips much sharper than she wished.

_Maybe if you play nice, he'll settle a bit._

A few more cleansing breaths, and once she was certain she had enough control to keep her tone free from exasperation, she leaned closer to the door, and murmured against the wood. “Fine, Thomas, we'll do it your way.”

Felicity rapped her knuckles gently on the inside of the door, the sound echoing in the stark silence around her. “Thomas?” She leaned her forehead against the rough oak as she spoke. “A word before I set out? Please?” Gathering her courage Felicity grasped the wood and pulled, inching the door open. She blinked against the bright beams of sunlight glistening across the damp grass, shielding her eyes as she looked across the field, scanning for any sign of him.

None to be found.

 _He left..._ ?

She shook her head in disbelief as she snatched her still-damp clothes from the front shutters, throwing aside modesty and quilt alike. She banged back inside the house, delighting in the resounding thunk the door made as it hit the wall and bounced back. “Maybe I'll break the fucking thing,” she muttered resentfully, “wouldn't that serve him right.”

She wrestled her jeans up her legs, wrinkling her nose as the wet denim seam chafed the skin inside her thighs. She yanked her fingers through the knots in her hair trying desperately to put it to rights, before giving up and sloppily plaiting the coppery waves down her back. Her fingers deftly secured the buttons down the front of her threadbare flannel shirt, and though she felt no better, she at least felt presentable.

 _Well, that's just fine by me._ Felicity wandered back outside restlessly. _Can do what he likes, I found my way out here, surely I can find my way home without too much trouble._

As she leaned against the dank stone walls and looked out toward the water, trying to remember how she had come across Thomas in the first place, she knew she was lying to herself. As far as she could see there was naught but endless rolling grass, boundless ocean, and woods so dark and dense that she felt a shiver pass through her as she considered what lay within.

_What kind of person does this? What kind of madman sends someone away without a thought, and then leaves them alone, unsupervised in their home?_

She knew the answer almost before she'd finished asking the question.

_The kind of man who desperately craves his privacy. No, not just privacy....utter and uninterrupted solitude._

Almost immediately, and almost entirely against her will, Felicity felt herself softening beneath a wave of gratitude for the gruff and grizzled man who'd gone to such unparalleled lengths to ensure his isolation, yet still pulled a stranger from the grip of certain death. Allowed her to eat at his table. Allowed her to sleep in his bed.

The warmth of that wave cooled quickly, however, as she crossed her arms over her middle and sank to the dirt, leaning against the wall of Thomas' house. _If he thinks I'm going to go look for him, he's dead wrong. I'll just wait right here until he comes back._ She chewed absently at her bottom lip, restlessly playing with the hem of her shirt as she watched the slow crawl of the sun from blade of grass to blade of grass.

_Ain't this a right fucking drag? Only ever meant to take a walk, see the sky, feel the ground beneath my feet. Never meant to end up arse in the dirt, waiting to make my manners after begging scraps from the most cantankerous and least charitable man a soul could hope to find._

The frigid fingers of the wind plucked a few ill-tethered strands from her sloppy braid and tossed them playfully across one cheek; she shoved them aside with a sulky scowl.

_Then get your arse up off the ground and move it along, Felicity Dolan. You don't owe the bastard anything, really; he may have saved your blessed life, but he made damn sure to let you know he gave not two shits what you do with it now. You can find your way back, you know you can. Might take some doing, but no matter that. Once the journey's done there's home and heat and Connemara company to comfort if only you ask._

“Won't need to ask,” she spoke with a snort. “Never need to ask for Connemara company...” She cast her mind to the quaintly crafted corner of the Emerald Isle she'd chosen to try and make a home; a sleepy little village she'd been certain would be just the balm to soothe the irritating itch that Manhattan had sewn into her skin. What she'd found – lovely, colorful people who meant well, but who reminded her a bit too much of her parents when it came right down to it – was admittedly closer to what she wanted than what she'd had. Yet now, six months later, she'd come to realize that she really had very little idea what she really wanted at all. The architecture of the town that had once felt warm and snug now felt cramped and tight; the polite, welcoming interest of the population that had greeted her arrival now seemed little more that well-intentioned but self-entitled meddling. Unable to resist the romance of a wander beneath a stormy sky, she'd left her apartment in hopes that the wide open spaces would clear at least some of the jumble that cluttered her head.

_And where are you now, Felicity Dolan? Alone, in wet clothes, trying to untangle the knots of one of the meanest, most misanthropic men you've ever met._

She pouted briefly at the frayed laces of her worn hiking boots, her fingertips tugging morosely at a stray string unraveled from one leather seam.

_You should just go home. He's made it clear you're not welcome to stay. Why on earth are you sitting here like an errant child, waiting for a scolding?_

The thin black thread popped free from the eyelet of her boot, and she flicked it away with a wordless grumble. A stray piece of rope lay coiled near the front door; she ran a finger along one rough-hewn curve before picking it up to pluck at the whipping on the ends, sullenly attempting to pull it loose.

 _Can find my own way back, yes, surely I can. But after how many hours, how many wrong turns,_ _s_ he cast a wary eye to the gray thunderheads still floating just beyond the cliffside _, how many more gallons dumped freezing on my head?_ _No. He wants me gone so badly, wants me to never find my way here again? He can make damn certain I know the way, the quickest way, to see to it._ With a stubbornly exhaled harrumph, Felicity threw the braided hemp from her restlessly fidgeting fingers and pushed herself to her feet, heading determinedly toward the trees. _He can't be far. He can't ignore me forever._

Her stomping stride slowed considerably as she drew ever closer to the thick, dark woods; she tossed her heavy braid over her shoulder in anxious irritation. Resting one palm against the coarse bark of one majestic, menacing oak, she leaned into the shadows making certain her feet remained securely planted in the sunlight. “Thomas!” she shouted, sighing a bit in relief when her voice emerged strong and full of sass to be carried into the hollows of the forest on the whipping of the wind. “Where the bloody hell have you gone? You'll not run me down all night and day and expect me to look after your blasted house just because you fancy a sulk!”

The leaves rustled gently in reply, dancing delicately around her ankles, and the soft but distinct snap of a twig pushed her an automatic step back. “Thomas?” She bit down on her lip as silence settled briefly over the underbrush, only to be broken once more a heartbeat later by another crack and low, shuffling rustle. Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the dim, then widened, and she chuckled gently to herself as a small red fox trotted briskly across her path its dinner securely clamped between its jaws. It paused a moment, one delicate paw pointed in almost silent accusation as its glittering black eyes fixed warily on her face.

“Well look at you, you fucking little wanker,” Felicity knelt in the dirt, breathing in the pungent scents of the animal's sap-stained fur and the coppery blood that dotted the broken body of the rabbit in its teeth. A heartbeat passed, and then another, as the breeze continued to blow unaware between the two. Slowly, Felicity lifted her hand from her knee, extending it toward the fox in a show of quiet deference. She could see the shiny black nose twitch briefly, the brilliantly bushy tail flicking sharply. A derisive snort chuffed her direction, and it skittered into the trees without a backwards glance. “Aye, seems that taking off without so much as a by-your-leave is custom 'round these parts, just fine and dandy,” she smarmed at the departing flash of ginger fur. Shaking her head, she rose once again to her feet. “Two of a kind, you are.”

Peering over her shoulder, she headed back toward the house, walking the perimeter with a curious eye. No sign of her wayward host, nothing but green and sloping space. “Forgotten his manners, out here alone,” she muttered to herself, “unless he never had any to begin with, the surly old sot. No matter, he can't stay gone forever, he'll have to come back sometime, and when he does, I'll-” her monologue died on her lips as she rounded the corner to the rear of the house, and her hand fluttered up to tug nervously at her collar.

Tucked securely behind the small stone cottage was a large sawed-off stump, a heavy handled ax wedged deep in the top. Coils of rope wound haphazardly around the wooden base, a small three legged stool resting beside it.

 _Well, that's... something._ Felicity chewed a bit on her bottom lip. _I don't remember reading anything in the Tribune about a killer gone hiding out here...”_ She glanced to her left, to her right, then took another tentative step forward. _Needs wood for the stove, that's sure. And a place to skin and butcher, if he hunts in any fashion..._

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she began a sullen march toward the front of the property, slowly resigning herself to the fact that she'd be finding her way home with thanks unoffered and her own sense of direction for company. She flushed in embarrassment, pressing her hands against her face as she considered how ill-mannered she'd been. _The least I can do is shut his house up tight before I go. Rude or not, he saved my life and let me stay, should at least make the gesture._ She stooped to retrieve the quilt from where she'd childishly left it flung in the dirt, shaking and dusting the grime free from the fabric before folding it neatly into a square.

Gently pushing the door open, she crossed the room and laid the quilt neatly at the foot of the bed. She pressed her hands over the hollow of her stomach, trying to soothe the growling deep in her gut. _No sense at all in trying to find my way home without a proper breakfast,_ she reasoned. _I'm sure Thomas won't mind if I sneak a little something._ As soon as she said it, she knew he would more than likely mind immensely, but her hunger gnawed persistently within her, becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

She stood lamely in the center of the kitchen for a moment, searching for some sort of inspiration. A small basket lay on the floor with a handful of groceries inside; it only took a moment for Felicity to find and retrieve a tiny jar of blackcurrant jam. She rolled it thoughtfully in her palm for a moment.

_Christ on His cross, girl, if you're going to take the man's food without asking, at least prepare something for him to sink his teeth into besides your hide._

Grabbing a couple of chunks of the previous evening's leftover bread and a knife, she moved to sit at the table, discomfited by the lack of seemingly simple, basic supplies Thomas kept.

_Well, I'll make do, and when he comes home, at least I'll have left him a bit of something._

“You,” Thomas appeared in the doorway, dark and menacing, fury radiating off of him in waves so thick that Felicity froze with her knife in her hand, jam half-spread and forgotten. “What the devil are you still doing in my house?”

“I was...” she stammered a little, “waiting for you. I thought I should... I just wanted... I made you breakfast, to thank you.” Felicity brought her eyes to Thomas' face, finding herself ill-prepared for the storm raging across his features.

“Show me a bit of gratitude with my own food, eh?” Thomas scoffed as he pulled the chair from the table, lowering himself gracefully into it, reaching toward her to pluck the bread from her hand. “You'd have done me one better if you let me eat as I pleased.”

Felicity pursed her lips and chewed uneasily on the inside of her cheek, opting not to reply.

“Nothing to say now, have you?” Thomas chewed thoughtfully before he swiped his napkin over his mouth, wiping the crumbs from his lips. “Trespassing, stealing, taking advantage, that's all well and good, but time to offer a simple apology and you've got nothing.” He narrowed his eyes as he watched her, daring her to speak against him. She merely sat, lips pressed tightly together, foot tapping with increasing agitation against the wooden floor. _Tap, tap, tappity tapp._ The sharp staccato rhythm echoed through the stifling silence in Thomas' kitchen, color staining Felicity's cheeks as she struggled to keep her sharp and biting words at bay.

_So this is it, eh Thomas? This is why you're out here all alone: the effort a soul has to exert to put up with you and your harsh and unforgiving and positively rancorous nature has surely killed everybody who ever tried._

She clenched her hands into fists before flattening them against the cool surface of the table in an endless loop, searching for something, anything to focus on other than the vitriolic irritation which was vibrating through her.

“Tastes fine,” Thomas reached across the table toward Felicity's plate, moving to slide the ceramic away from her. “I'll give you that much. Food being mine and all, I'll just take this one too...”

Before she could stop herself, Felicity's hand snapped up and slapped his roughly away, sending the bread sailing across the tabletop. “Oh, _fuck_ _off_ _it,_ Thomas,” she fumed through gritted teeth. He raised his eyebrow in surprise, but said nothing, scratching his fingers roughly across the scruff of his jaw before slowly, methodically sliding his chair back from the table. “You want an apology. Fine. Apologies, Thomas, mine to you, bloody fucking heaps of them. But as you taken them, you take this as well,” Felicity lifted her chin, emboldened by fury, her emerald eyes ablaze. “You did me a kindness, that's sure. But I've news for you, you holier than thou git- you ain't the only man'd done it. You think you were out there on those cliffs behaving like some blasted superhero? You did what any decent human being would've done, what _I_ would have done were the role reversed, so you'll get no fucking genuflection from me for that!”

Thomas' lips curled in a slow, predatory smile as he rose from his chair, the sudden fluid moment sending Felicity scrambling to her feet. “Got a fair bit of opinion for a girl so far from home,” he purred, taking small, measured steps to close the gap between them.

“I think you'll deem my opinions plenty healthy no matter where I am,” Felicity seethed, tossing her hair and taking a step back to fortify the breach between them, flinching slightly as her back came to a sudden stop against the wall. The chair she shoved between them did little to slow his advance and she swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. “I'm not in the mood for your games, Thomas,” she sniffed, meeting his icy blue stare beat for beat. “I've fair reached the end of my tether with you.”

His fist slammed home against the stone beside her ear, close enough for the breeze from the motion to flutter through her lashes. She scoffed and turned her face away from him in disdain, only to shriek with surprise when his fingers gripped her hair. Pulling with enough force to spring tears to her eyes, he yanked her head unceremoniously to his.

Felicity's hands flew up, reflexively shoving against Thomas' chest as his mouth crashed against hers. She struggled beneath him, whipping her head from side to side until a swift jerk to her hair threatened to pull it from the roots, and forcing her to still. She screwed her eyes shut as his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and a sharp bite to her bottom lip made her gasp beneath him. He smiled against her pained cry; she opened her eyes to see his face just as he retreated, swiping his thumb over the tiny bead of blood welling from the broken flesh.

“Felicity...” Thomas' voice was strained and gruff, his breath ghosting hot against her face.

Her eyes searched his, incredulous green meeting defiant blue, unspoken uncertainty and warring wills battling for sovereignty. “Thomas...” she breathed in response, reaching her hand tentatively toward his cheek, before changing her mind and dropping it to his chest, fisting his shirt in her fingers.

Pushing against her shoulders, he shoved her back against the wall with a resounding thud, and this time, when his mouth met hers, she opened to him eagerly. He pressed his thumb against her bottom lip, forcing her to widen her mouth, to take him deeper, to grant him more and more. He pressed himself against her, grinding the rigid heat of his straining cock against her thigh as he took from her, groaning hungrily into her mouth. The colors of the room shimmered and shifted, lush greens and earthy browns and thin crimson streaks painting their way across her vision. She had just slipped her hands under the hem of his shirt, pressing her palms against his warm, bare skin, when, with a soft but agonized snarl, he abruptly pulled away from her.

The sudden distance between them stung more soundly than if he'd given her the back of his hand, and Felicity wrapped her arms across her middle, holding herself tightly as she struggled to get her breathing under control. Thomas turned away from her, leaving her alone and adrift in the wake of his sudden passion.

“Follow the coastline to the East,” he muttered, eyes fixed resolutely on the door. “When the water runs out, head North. Few hours'll get you home.”

Felicity stared at his broad back, searching for words to say, and finding none. The house, which only moments ago had been so warm and wonderfully charming, now felt so cloying, so constricting that she couldn't breathe. Hot, angry tears slipped from her eyes, while Thomas stood motionless, save for his hands balled into fists at his sides, held so tightly she could see his knuckles turning white.

“Thomas...” her voice was tiny, timid and barely audible.

“Out!” he roared with fury, wheeling on her.

Knowing she could take no more, Felicity bolted straight through the door and down toward the windswept sea, running as fast as her legs could carry her.


	4. Chapter 4

The January sun poking out from behind the clouds did little to warm Felicity, in either skin or spirit as she ran over the muddy terrain, feet sloshing through puddles as they struck the sodden earth, steps sliding slightly as they skidded across still-damp grass. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, sending her head spinning and her heart pounding, until at long last the welcome sight of the looming cliffs came into view. Tears leaked steadily from the corners of her eyes as she swayed for a moment, unsteady, before her knees buckled and and she collapsed to the ground, hitting the frigid, rocky turf with a soft grunt. She stared out at the water for a moment, motionless, save for the heaving of her chest as she fought to catch her breath. Her fingertips found the wound on her lip, seemingly of their own volition; the flash of pain she felt when she pressed the blood-stained tear was at once both a welcome reminder and a harsh memento.

_That man was a right wretched ass to you, you stupid girl,_ Felicity closed her eyes, her harsh breathy gasps dissolving into sobs that wracked her body with piercing barbs of pain and embarrassment. _Get yourself up- and get on home, you're acting like a blasted fool._

Balling her hands into fists, she scoured the tears from her eyes, craning her neck to look back over her shoulder in the direction she'd come. Plump and swollen, her lips burned with the lingering sensation of Thomas' mouth on hers, but the welcome twist in her gut was overshadowed by the memory of his face in the moments after, vitriolic rage twisting his beautiful features into a terrible grimace of resentment and bitterness. She shook her head briskly, trying with little success to cool the lingering longing that still smoldered beneath her skin. She rose slowly to her feet, uselessly brushing the mud from her pants with the threadbare cuffs of her shirt before she turned body and brain away from Thomas altogether.

As she traveled, the wild grass under Felicity's feet eventually gave way to a rough, well-used dirt road before abruptly shifting, the faded gravel providing an unrelenting reminder that she was nearly home. The sun was just beginning its descent, disappearing behind the dark, looming clouds which had formed above her head when the tiny town of Clifden appeared over the horizon. The little town sprang to life like a pop-up from the dog-eared storybooks Felicity had thumbed through so often during her childhood. She couldn't suppress the smile that ghosted across her lips as she made her way onto Market Street, the bright blue and mustard yellow storefronts cheerful beacons against the graying sky.

_Could do with a bit of supper._ Her hands fluttered to her hair, raking her fingers through the knots to free her mane from the last of the morning's braid. _Not so much in the mood for conversation though.._ She hesitated in the middle of the street, picturing the stark and empty wire shelves of her refrigerator at home. _I'll just pop in and out again, tell her I'm starving, but absolutely wrecked..._

Felicity changed her course to cross toward the Connemara Hamper _,_ the distinctive goldenrod building which had become her usual suppertime haunt. It was widely accepted as the best delicatessen in town- the shelves packed to the brim with delicious offerings, the owner, Eileen O'Cleary more than happy to talk your ear off as she packed you a lunch. She stopped briefly, sighing as she wiped the mud from her boots on the tattered straw doormat before wearily pushing the door open. The familiar tinkle of the overhead bell seemed much too loud, and the glare of the fluorescent lights immediately felt much too harsh; for a moment, she contemplated turning around and running straight home, burying her head beneath her blankets until the world made sense again.

_Won't make sense at all if you're dead from being too stupid to feed your damn self._

She was still lost in her own head when she was interrupted by the familiar voice of the shop's owner, her overly dyed and impeccably coiffed hair barely visible behind the sloped glass case of the deli counter. Her short stature did nothing to diminish her presence however, and her thick Irish brogue was rife with grandmotherly concern.

“Well, look at who we've got here!” Eileen smiled widely from behind the counter, flour smeared in a wide strip across one cheek. “We missed you last night for supper, love. Got to wonderin' where you'd gone off to.”

Felicity slumped into one of the lunch counter chairs, leaning her head against the wall as she forced what she hoped at least looked like a genuine smile. “Hello there, Eileen. I'm just grand. Got lost a bit on a hike, couldn't find my way home in the dark.”

Eileen's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped in horror. “You spent the whole night long outside, by yourself?” She leaned across the glass case, reaching toward the younger girl. “In that storm?” Shaking her head anxiously, she held her hands to her heart. “Oh, dearie, you're lucky to be alive!”

_So, we have us a show then._ It took all of Felicity's strength not to let her irritation show on her face. _So much for getting home quickly._

Instead, she leaned forward, heaving a sigh as she pushed herself upright so that she could more fully meet Eileen's concerned gaze. “I wasn't outside all night. Someone found me, gave me shelter.” _Gave me a rotten headache and a belly full of bile to boot, but that's none of her business._ She offered a small smile, before spreading her hands in hopeful plea. “I know it's late, Eileen, but I was hoping I could get my usual?”

“Child, for you?” Eileen swiped her hands across the front of her apron, expertly flying into action. “Anything.” She began to sift through the assorted meats and cheeses in her deli case, pulling an assortment on instinct honed by years of service before lining up her selections on the cutting counter. “You say someone found you? Where were you hiking?” She hummed to herself as she sliced a baguette in half, and tucked both pieces in the bottom of a brown paper bag.

“Don't know exactly,” Felicity hedged, trying desperately not to think about it, as eager to forget the route she'd taken and the cottage she'd slept in as she was to avoid any thoughts of the man himself. “Towards the water, up over the cliffs somewhere.”

Almost immediately, Eileen began shaking her head, chuckling with gentle derision. “Did you hit your head on this hike of yours? Nobody lives that far-” She broke off mid-sentence, the knife clattering noisily against the cutting board as she dropped it. “You can't mean... Thomas Hiddleston?”

Felicity's eyebrows shot up, in spite of herself. “He never did get to telling me his last name, but he did call himself Thomas, yes. He's a friend of yours then?” _There's no way. There's no way that man has anything at all to do with this prying, nosy woman, no matter how lovely she is._ “Eileen? Are you all right then?”

Eileen's mouth hung slack, hands shaking tremulously as one flickered up to make the sign of the cross over her heart. She finally took a deep breath, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Saints and the Lord above be praised, love,” she whispered, voice strained and rough. “I can't believe you made it out alive.”

Snapping to attention, Felicity rose to her feet and moved to join Eileen at the counter, pressing her hands comfortingly over the old woman's despite her incredulity. _He was a right brute, that's for damn certain, but why the devil is she so afraid of him? Surely she's not so far gone that a set of bad manners and a mouthful of harsh words would be enough to sends her into fits._ “What's that? What are you going on about, Eileen, why wouldn't I?”

The sound of the bells above the entrance broke the strained silence; both women turned automatically toward the door, waiting impatiently to see who had interrupted their palaver.

“Oh, Norah!” Eileen exhaled with relief, wringing her hands over Felicity's half-packed lunch. “Thank the good Lord you're here, I've never been so relieved to see you in all my life!”

“What on God's green...?” Norah crossed rapidly toward the counter, wisps flying from her snowy ponytail as she moved. “Give out with it, Eileen. I saw you yesterday, fine as you'd please. Whatever it is, it can't be worth all that.”

Eileen looked meaningfully over the top of the glass case at her friend, meeting her gaze without flinching. “Felicity here was just telling me that she rode the storm out with...” She paused for effect, swallowing audibly in the baited air. “Thomas Hiddleston.”

Before she could blink, Felicity felt Norah's hands grasp her shoulders in a grip that was as efficient as it was uninvited. Spinning her around with more force than Felicity knew she possessed, Norah pulled her face to hers, fingers grasping her chin in a pincer-like grip, as her eyes crawled suspiciously over Felicity's face and form. “Are you hurt, love? What did he do to you? Tell Old Norah all about it.”

Felicity twisted impatiently away from her, flicking her concern away with an exasperated scoff through her nostrils. “Hurt? Why the bleeding fuck would I be hurt?” Absently, she tongued the mark Thomas had left on her, wincing as she felt the flush rising to stain her cheeks. “What are you both going on about? Do you know him, then? Thomas?”

Coming out from behind the counter, Eileen grabbed Felicity by the elbow and ushered both women toward the seats at the front of the store. She slid into one of the chairs herself before peering around the room surreptitiously. “Oh Heavens yes, dearie.” Her voice was hushed, and strained. “We know _all_ about that one. Lived here in town he did, until a few years back.”

_She must be thinking of someone else._ Felicity shook her head, sighing with relief. _Don't know much about him, next to nothing really, but I know Clifden ain't got a thing for him._

“I think you're a bit off, ladies,” she paid no attention to the loaded glance that passed between Norah and Eileen. “He was quite set as I saw him. Would have thought he lived there his whole life, if you ask me.”

Norah raised her eyebrow, clearly not taken with Felicity denial. “Tall as the day is long? Ginger haired, mean as you please, looks like he'd rather kill you dead than say 'good morning'?”

Felicity pursed her lips. “Sounds like him, yeah.”

Eileen and Norah nodded emphatically. “That's the one, all right,” Eileen confirmed. “He lived here. Was halfway down to the altar before it all went arseways. He and that woman of his...”

“Etain,” Norah interjected.

“Etain, yes. Thank you, love. Thomas and Etain. Lived in that darling old house on...where was it again?” Eileen furrowed her brow, tapping her fingertips irritably on the countertop as she searched her memory.

“Canon's Lane.”

“Of course!” Eileen's palm came down on the countertop with a resounding thud, before she composed herself and reached over to pat Norah on her knee. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath before continuing, lowering her voice confidentially. “Her papa bought that house for them, if you haven't heard. They had everything.” Her eyes misted over as she spoke. “He was going to be a doctor, you know, Etain went on and on about it. Irish Literature. Always running about here, humming that infernal song. Bit of a flighty thing, if you ask me, sitting 'round reading books all day. Guess her papa thought so too, because the next thing you know, Thomas was all dressed up fine and dandy, heading into Dublin to do a respectable day's work, which if you ask me-”

_For the love of all that's holy_ , Felicity's hand clenched underneath the table, nearly trembling with annoyance. _She'll talk clear through until morning if I don't stop her._

“Eileen!” Felicity cringed inwardly in embarrassment at the vehemence of her interruption. “I just don't see how any bit of that makes the man dangerous. A bit of a pushover, maybe...” She pursed her lips, as she mulled the word over, unable to reconcile Eileen's description with the man she'd met. “But not dangerous.” She rubbed her hands roughly, restless with unspent energy, against her jeans. “I'd really just like my food and to be on my way home, if you don't mind.”

“Just give her a moment, child.” Norah murmured, leaning to support her head on one hand. “She'll come 'round to it.” She turned to Eileen, offering an encouraging smile. “You're doing the right thing, love, warning this poor girl.”

Eileen leaned in closer, her false air of confidentiality belied by her none-too-quiet whisper. “Beautiful pair, those two. Every bit Connemara royalty, they could have been. Until that sweet, sweet girl found out what he'd been hiding.”

“Hiding?” Felicity leaned forward, morbidly curious in spite of herself. “What was he hiding?” _My God, Felicity Dolan, if only your pa could see you now,_ Felicity thought wryly as she squashed the embarrassment fluttering through her gut. _Sitting around here trading tales like some catty old fishwife, you've done him proud._

Norah and Eileen exchanged a long, telling glance for one beat, then another. Eileen broke first, nervously staring at her hands, twisting her fingers over and over. But it was Norah who finally spoke—flat, matter of fact. “He was in league with the Devil himself.”

“Shhh!” Eileen's wide eyes and panicked exclamation made Felicity jump.

“I'm sorry...” Felicity paused for a few moments, breath caught half in her throat as she searched for words. “He was what now?”

Norah stretched her arm over Eileen's shoulders, hugging her comfortingly. “It's true dear, so sad to say. Etain tried to save him, poor little lass. We all did. We even had Father Whitley from St. Joseph's take a run at setting his soul to rights. But it was too late, by then.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “If only Etain hadn't tried so hard to fight the blackness in that man all alone.”

_Superstitious old women,_ Felicity rolled her eyes, stifling the harsh retort that threatened to tumble unbidden from her lips. _Hasn't got a bit of manners to save his life, that one, marches to the beat of his own drum, that's for damn sure. Can't very well call it blackness, though, just because a man'd rather keep to a space of his own._

“Blackness?” She looked from one woman to the other, searching their faces carefully. “I know he's a bit narky, out there all by his lonesome, but the weather was murder and I was naught by a stranger who followed the wrong fork in the road.” She shook her head, shrugged. “He saved my life. There's no blackness in him.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, spilling into the light, she knew they weren't true.

Eileen finally spoke again, her voice tremulous and barely above a whisper. “Sweet, sweet girl.” She reached to grasp Felicity's hand, squeezing with artfully crafted sympathy. “Did he bother to tell you what he was saving it _for?”_

Felicity's gut twisted, and she felt a sudden surge of bile raising up into her throat. “Pardon?”

“The day he left,” Eileen spoke slowly, pausing to make sure her audience was well and truly enthralled. “That lovely little lass of his came in here on a tear. Carrying on and on about the things he'd asked her to do. Ungodly things, if you ask me.” She pointed purposely at Felicity, her tone shifting, ripe with recrimination. “Not that I believe any young people should be bedding before marriage, mind you, but I know the times are changing. What they do is between them and God, much as I'd like to leave them a piece of my mind about it--”

“Eileen.” Norah squeezed her shoulders, jostling her friend from her monologue. “You're going on again, a bit.”

Eileen waved her hands impatiently at her friend, refocusing on Felicity. “Right, love, so sorry. Anyway! That Etain came in here, told us all about how Thomas had come home early that morning, rope right in his hand. Didn't even try to hide it, not a single solitary shred of shame.”

“Now,” Norah spoke again. “He makes rope, has for years as a bit of a hobby, so we didn't think anything of it.”

“That's right”, Eileen nodded emphatically. “Not a thing. What's a man carrying some rope, after all? A man ought to be able to... ”

Felicity's mind wandered, Eileen's chattering fading to the background as the younger woman considered the rope she'd seen coiled outside Thomas' front door, the fibrous strands so carefully crafted and expertly woven. _He made that?_ She searched her memory for signs of any machines, inside his house or out, and came up empty. _Must have been a while back, if he did at all._

“... but he didn't want it for fishing, that's for certain.” Eileen nodded as she spoke, full of self-righteous scrutiny.

“What did he want it for?” Felicity shook her head, trying to catch up to the turn the conversation had taken.

“He wanted to... bind her hands,” Eileen whispered, the horror in her voice as clear as if she'd shouted it. “While they had... relations.”

Felicity caught her breath sharply, surprised by the subtle but persistent quiver that twisted in her gut. She closed her eyes, considering her words carefully; she had no wish to offend either woman, nor was she interested in taking part in what could only be considered a witch hunt. “What about that then?”

“See, I knew you had a good head on your shoulders!” Eileen clasped Felicity's hands, her eagerness to share a bit of gossip turning her blind to the younger girl's rapidly dwindling patience. “I knew you'd never have been out there with that man if you'd only known the story. I've been so remiss, not to fill you in, I just never thought there was any chance at all you'd meet him! I mean, we barely see the dodgy old git anyhow-”

“Eileen!” Norah exclaimed. “Mind your Christian manners, there love.”

“Right, right. Of course you're right.” Eileen nodded distractedly. “You're such a goodly friend to remind me. Right then. As I was saying,” she was back to business. “As if binding that sweet woman's hands wasn't horrid enough. He told her he'd been having... thoughts.” She shot a glance at Norah, who nodded encouragingly. “Dark, positively unholy thoughts.”

“Thoughts?” Felicity raised her eyebrows, certain that Eileen was the last person on the planet Thomas would have trusted with his personal thoughts. “How do you know about this?”

“Poor Etain, was inconsolable, she was. Went on and on about how her heart was broken.” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, and Eileen brought her apron to her face, wiping the dampness from her cheeks. “She lost everything, spent the best season of her life with that man. And then for him to come at her with something like this?” Her tears flowed freely now, and Felicity could see the catch in her throat. “Oh Norah, dearie, you tell the poor girl, I just can't. It's too horrible.”

Norah shifted on her chair, turning to look Felicity square in the eye. “He told her he wanted possess her. Wanted her to give way to his carnal... sins.” Norah cleared her throat. “He wanted to dive headfirst into Satan's pit, and he wanted to take that sweet, lovely girl right along with him.”

“And he wanted her to thank him for it!” Eileen sobbed. “That was the worst of it! She told us that he'd brandished that whip of his at her, and told her if she agreed to let him use it, that she would _thank him!_ ”

“And did he?” Felicity breath caught in her throat as she sat perched on the edge of her chair with rapt attention. “He struck her?”

“Oh, heavens, no! He never even laid a finger on that girl, thank Jesus' mercy.” Norah shook her head rapidly. “Etain was much too clever to fall prey to a pretty face like that. The Devil takes all forms, you know, and he's alive and well, right there in that Thomas Hiddleston.”

Eileen slapped at her face, trying to bring some color back to her cheeks. “No, they had a right vicious row, there in the street in front of Fogherty's old place. She did everything she could to try to guide him back to the path of righteousness.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “But all Thomas would say was that if she couldn't love him for who he was, she had no business at his side at all.” Eileen wrinkled her nose at the memory. “As if a bright and worthy soul could love someone so dark, so morally... bankrupt.”

“What happened, then?” Felicity was determined to follow the story to its conclusion. _In for a penny, in for a pound, so they say_. “How did he end up all the way out there?”

“Oh, he tried to stay in town”, Norah shook her head firmly. “Tried to find a place to live, carry on as if nothing had happened. Can you even imagine?” She clicked her tongue. “But we couldn't have such a corrupt and depraved man living here. We told him...” She peeked at Eileen who had busied herself rubbing at an old nick in the wood of the counter. “We told him that Father Whitley could help him find his lost soul, and if he wouldn't go looking for it, like any decent man ought?” Norah shrugged, detached and dispassionate. “Then we'd have no place for him here.”

“You ran him out of town, then?” Felicity was unable to hide her horrified expression. “Did you even get his side of the story?”

“Have you been listening to a word we've said, love?” Eileen grasped Felicity's knee. “You don't give the Devil leave to bend your ear. We didn't run him out, he brought that fate upon himself.”

Felicity was silent for a few moments more, tongue bitten between her teeth as she considered everything she'd heard, before she finally dropped her head, resting it in her hands. “Thank you both so much for the... story,” she offered the women a small smile. “But I'm so tired, I'd just like to get myself home, have a bite or two, and get on to bed.”

Eileen jumped up then, scuttling back behind the counter. “You're right, dearie, I can't even imagine.” She took up the half-filled bag, and resumed packing it full. “Have some extra food for your troubles, lamb. I'm sure just guarding your virtue around that awful man took so much of your strength, Lord love you.” She popped a couple of pears into the bag before folding it closed. “Your virtue is safely guarded, right?”

_Would be a cold day in hell before I'd discuss my virtue with you, you nosy old cow._

Felicity stifled the smirk that threatened to spread across her lips. “Goodnight, Eileen.”

“Go on home, then, Felicity.” Eileen replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “We'll see you round here tomorrow.”

Worn and weary, Felicity trudged toward the gravel road that circled her apartment, her feet throbbing beneath her, pulling her shirt closer to ward off the evening chill. The weathered brown building nestled in the trees at the end of Westport Road had been called “charming and full of character” when she'd blown into town, bags in hand and no place to live, and she had snapped it up sight unseen. Six months in and she found that assessment to be a bit on the generous side, but it would do her well enough.

Turning the knob, Felicity nudged the front door open with her boot before tossing the sodden, filthy shoes to pavement. She flipped the switch, sending soft white light spilling across her living room, sighing as she padded inside in her stocking feet, slamming the door behind her. _Jesus fuck, feels as if I've been gone a year._ Her food hit the table with a thunk, the half-drunk coffee she'd left sitting there from breakfast clattering against the wood.

_Well I'm not going to do anyone a blasted bit of good until I've had a shower._ She moved down the hallway, shedding her clothes as she walked, dropping them underneath her feet. Stepping inside the shower, she wrenched the water on as hot as it would go, inhaling deeply as the room began to fill with steam, the air hot and humid against her skin. Felicity slipped beneath the spray, gasping aloud as the scalding water fell in a stinging pattern over her breasts. She tilted her head back, letting the droplets dance over her exposed neck, swishing her dampening hair back and forth, smiling as the ends ticked her waist. Turning slowly on her heel, closed her eyes as the water fell in sheets over her head, and let her mind drift.

Her hands tangled in her hair as the strands darkened and dripped down her back, but in her mind's eye, it was Thomas' hands instead of her own. The memory of the hot, coppery taste of her own blood after he'd bitten her, coupled with the feel of his breath against her face as he leaned into her, taking from her without restraint was intoxicating.

_I've not had a kiss like that in my whole life._

She poured a small dollop of creamy body wash into her palm, breathing in the welcoming aroma of sunflower and seaweed, basil and lemon as she slid her hands teasingly over her breasts. She let out a small moan as she pinched her nipples between her fingers, rolling them to pebbled points beneath the soapy spray.

_He wanted to bind her hands._ Felicity felt a slippery surge of wetness between her legs as she remembered the feel of the rope across her palm, and her hand drifted reflexively down her belly, playing down toward her clit.

_He wanted her to thank him for it._

The downy thicket of coppery curls nestled between her legs tickled against her fingertips as she parted them, seeking the little bud rousing beneath her touch with a delicious throb.

_His breath, hot against her damp skin, his words a growl vibrating between her ears. “If you stay nearby, love, storm'd be much, much worse...”_

As she continued to explore the soft and secret landscape below her navel, her mind filled with images of Thomas' hands, long nimble fingers plucking button from denim. Her stomach hitched again as it had when he'd parted the steel teeth of his zipper, peeled the dark blue material from his hips and thighs-

… _see something that I should be ashamed of?_

A shaky exhale escaped her lips as she curled her fingers in teasing strokes against flesh that was suddenly awake and aflame with an ache she’d not felt in more than a year. She recalled with a tiny mewl the heat of him radiating from his skin, baking through the back of her soaked shirt, the rumble of his voice.

_I’m not in the habit of waiting on people, love..._

Continuing her descent, she felt her own wetness begin to spread over her fingers as she pushed them roughly inside her now greedily clenching depths. Felicity writhed into her palm, grinding her clit against the heel of her hand, and her hips began to undulate in an urgent roll, twisting and shifting as she sought the angle that would bring her release crashing down on her the fastest.

That welcome, familiar pull deep in her belly had only just begun to surface when, unbidden, the velvety purr shifted, became a harsh, resentful snarl.

_I never dreamed I'd have occasion to come across someone so stupid._

Felicity froze, her eyes snapping open as she tried to rid her brain of Thomas' angry words. But it only took a heartbeat for her to realize that, once she'd let his voice inside, it was set to do as it pleased, much like the man himsel

_I'm here because people never could mind their own fucking business!_

Removed from the immediacy of Thomas' presence, and the maelstrom he wrought withing her, his words sounded colder and harsher than she'd remembered.

_Let's get this clear. I don't care what you do. I don't care where you go. I don't care at all what happens to you._

Felicity grunted in frustration as she withdrew her hand, her arousal fleeing as abruptly as it had come. “Blasted fucking git made it clear as fucking crystal that I was naught by an inconvenience to the likes of him...” Snatching her shampoo bottle from the corner, she angrily flipped the top before indignantly scrubbing her scalp. “Got on just fucking fine before him, will get on just fucking fine after. _”_ Shutting off the water, Felicity grabbed a plush oversized towel from the hook, and wrapped it around herself, tucking it securely between her breasts. She wrung the water from her hair and ruffled her fingers through it, opening the door to let the fragrant steam spill into the hallway. Swiping her palm across the fogged over mirror, she stared at herself, forcing herself to meet her own gaze.

“Then why the fuck did he kiss me?”

_Not just a kiss,_ she was forced to acknowledge. _I daresay he was more than willing to do a fat lot more than that._

Blinking a few times at her reflection, she waited for any sort of clarity. When none came, she drifted back toward the kitchen, and pulling a plate from her cupboard, idly arranged her food before carrying it to the sofa. She distractedly picked up a few bites between her thumb and forefinger, squashing the soft bread to a ball before releasing it, uneaten back to the plate.

_You know as well as any that he's not to be trusted._ _Eileen and Norah were plain as day about that._

A block of cheese was her next casualty, strip after strip joining the pile of discarded dinner as she absently tore them away.

_Of course,_ _they were also certain as you please that he was the Devil incarnate._

Felicity scoffed quietly to herself.

_Codgy old bastard was brusque and angry. Standoffish and surly. But that ain't the same as dangerous. He hauled your distressed and disheleved arse up over the rain-soaked rocks when he could have just as easily left you to drown. And he may have ired you to chew bolts and spit tacks, but never, not for one moment, did you feel afraid._

A fat, green olive bumped against a crust of bread as her leg drummed restlessly beneath her. It met its end between her thumb and forefinger with a juicy squish.

_You can run this over in your head all you like, girl. But you know damn good and well that no matter how much you want to go back for a round two and give him what for, that he'd not open the door to you to save your life._

Exasperatedly, Felicity pushed her plate away from her as hot, angry tears began to slide down her cheeks. She pulled her half-knit plum colored afghan from its resting spot at the foot of her sofa, ignoring the needles that clattered noisily to the floor. She shimmied out of her towel and tossed it in on the floor before wrapping herself in the thick woolen blanket, and settling back into the sofa, turning her face toward her window. Tiny droplets of rain began to fall on the glass, pelting a quiet lullaby. Exhausted and uneasy, it wasn't long before she drifted, caught in a thin half-slumber, which allowed her neither rest nor respite. As she began to slip further into the grip of her dreams, a persistent thought wound through her consciousness:

_He'd not need to open the door to me to hear me... after all, you don't need to lay a trap for a fox to catch one._

It was only a few hours later when Felicity reluctantly opened her eyes, taking a minute to adjust to the gray-green light spilling into the room. During the night, she'd kicked her blanket to the floor, leaving her skin chilled and her teeth chattering. She bent to retrieve it from the floor and wrapped it over her shoulders, relaxing into the warmth. She groaned as she rose to her feet, aimlessly wandering around her apartment, passing her hand over the cold wood of her table, the undisturbed expanse of her bed. She knew already what she was going to do; she'd be heading back to Thomas, to reconcile the man she'd met with the demon she'd been told of in hushed and fearful tones. Even if, more than likely, he'd chase her straight home, a colorful epithet or two thrown in for good measure.

_Stalling won't give you any rest, Felicity Dolan, if he'll chase you out now, he'll chase you out later. Best get to it. After all, lose an hour in the morning and you'll be looking for it all day._ Felicity chuckled as her mother's words came back to her, clear as the hundred times she'd heard them before. _Don't think ma had a man like Thomas in mind when she told you to get to it._

Throwing her blanket back to the floor, Felicity raked her fingers through her hair, attempting to smooth the flyaway tendrils that had dried in frightening disarray around her head. A few moments of struggle only served to declare the mess a lost cause, and she plaited it quickly down her back. Shoving her legs into a clean pair of jeans, and pulling a faded green Henley over her head, she only slowed her pace for a moment to grab a tattered bag from the hook near the door. Jamming her feet into her boots, and yanking the door closed behind her, she was gone again.

The walk to the SuperValu was no more than a few minutes, but that was all it took for her to nearly talk herself out of it. She rounded the corner just as Joseph Blake was unlocking the doors, and she'd have rounded and turned tail straight home had he not seen her.

“Well good morning there, little lady!” His face lit up when he saw her, a paternally affectionate smile spreading across his features. “You're up early today!” He gave a nod to her backpack. “Headed out of town then, are we?”

_Blasted Christ, can't get more than two steps in this town without someone scurrying up into your business._

Felicity pursed her lips for just a moment, before answering a beat too late. “Yes... no... I don't know yet.” Her teeth worried at her bottom lip anxiously as she pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, trying desperately to cool them.

Joe pushed the doors to the market open wide, securing the locks at the top of the frame before beckoning her after him with a cock of his head. “Come on in and tell me, love. What's got you all spun around?”

“Oh, I'm fine, just fine.” Felicity waved his concern away, refusing to meet his eyes. “How's Clara?”

“If there's one thing that woman has taught me after thirty five years,” Joe answered, pulling the _Connemara Journal_ from the rack near the door and fluffing it open. “it's that when a lady says she's fine, she's rarely that. Now go on. Tell old Joe what's the matter.”

Felicity trailed after him, studying him carefully. “I'm going to bring some food to a friend,” she said slowly. “Got to walk a a bit, so nothing that won't keep awhile.”

“Well that sounds lovely!” Joe enthused. “Going on a picnic? You don't mind a bit of rain then?”

“Not... a picnic... ” Felicity's careful selection of words made her tone uncomfortable and halting, something that wasn't lost on the fatherly shopkeeper. She finally took a deep breath and dived in. “I'm going to visit Thomas Hiddleston.”

_I swear to all that's holy, if this man says so much as one word about my virtue, I'll never again darken his door or feed his till._

The smile vanished from Joe's face so fast it was if he'd been slapped. “Don't you go being a fool, girl,” He peered at her over top his paper. “I've never known you to be stupid.”

“Well Joe,” she grabbed a six-pack of Murphy's Irish Red from the display and settled it on the counter. “That's the thing. You've not known me but a few months.”

His fist came down on the countertop. “Don't you sass me, young lady. I've seen you near every day since you put foot in this town. And I'd no sooner allow you to see that man than I'd let my own daughter go there.”

“Joe...” Felicity paused before adding some cheese to her growing pile. “You don't have a daughter.”

“My point, you cheeky little thing,” he sighed, but didn't look away from her as he picked up his paper. “I don't like it. I don't like it at all.”

Felicity stood up on her tiptoes, stretching over the counter to kiss his cheek. “That's the thing, Joe. You don't have to like it.” She saw his eyes soften, so she offered a small smile. “How much?”

Joe snorted. “I'll add it to your tab. If you come back alive maybe you can pay the damn thing.”

_I fell from that fucking pony down by the river not three months ago and got not so much as a 'how do you do' from these folks. Now all of a sudden everyone wants to weigh in on my life choices._

Felicity slid her bag from the counter, jostling it in her hands to make certain the food settled before she zipped it shut. She slipped it over one shoulder, readjusting her stance a bit as the weight from the beer set her off balance. “I'll be back quick as can be, Joe. Just got a debt to pay, that's all.”

Joe grunted in acknowledgment, refusing to look up her her as she slipped back through the open front door. What Felicity didn't see, what she couldn't have seen, was that as soon as the green of her shirt had disappeared from the last corner of his bay window, Old Joe picked up his weathered black telephone, still tethered to the plug in the wall by a frayed spiral cord, and dialed a number he knew by heart. “Clara?” He spoke into the phone, his voice warm and tender. “Top of, my lovely. Do I have a treat for you this morning! How are you?” He was quiet a moment as he listened to the voice on the other side of the phone. “Oh no, love. Nothing like that. Just a bit of town gossip, thought I'd keep you up to date.” Joe cleared the gruffness from his throat before continuing. “You remember that girl I told you about? Little Miss Felicity Dolan? Well you'd never believe who she's gone running off to visit...”

The shops were just beginning to open for the morning as Felicity walked down Market Street, rusty metal gates being pushed aside, doors unlocked and propped open, cement walkways being swept clean. People nodded their greetings, flashing smiles as she passed them. She quickened her pace and ducked her head as she walked past The Connemara Hamper, wanting to avoid Eileen's friendly but prying gaze as she flipped her sign from “closed” to “open”. Felicity would have bet anything that the woman knew all the stories that sleepy little Clifden had to tell, but it seemed to her that there was at least one worth hearing from the horse's mouth.

_Let's just hope he doesn't act too much like a horse's arse instead..._

As she continued down the path that would lead her out of town, Felicity welcomed the thinning of the buildings- the trees taking the place of antique stores, abandoned lots replacing dusty old bookshops. Wind whipped through her hair, rifling the flame-colored strands around her face, blowing in frigid gusts over her cheeks. As she rounded the last corner, she nervously passed her fingers over the weather-torn wooden sign anchored on the roadside, welcoming all and sundry to the sleepy little village. She cast a nervous glance back the way she'd come, and caught out of the corner of her eye, the lights flickering on inside of Vaughan's Pub.

_Can't very well go meet the devil without popping in on Cillian first,_ Felicity managed a small smile, in spite of the anxious lump in her throat. _The old tool'd never forgive me if I left to be eaten alive without so much as a 'see you later'._

Vaughan's Pub was really just a hole in the wall. While it was billed as a historic building, and still held onto its fair share of regulars- people that had been committed to it long before when it was still shiny and new, it had fallen into disrepair. Customers traded away loyal service for flashy live music, the family business for free Wi-Fi. Its walls were covered in framed memorabilia, photographs and articles from as far back as the 1960s. The bar was worn, deep gouges and scratches etched into the wood, the result of too many times Cillian Vaughan had wrestled keys out of the hands of customers too stubborn to admit that they had no business driving. The gray crushed velvet atop the barstools was puckered and threadbare, the result of a do-it-yourself upholstery job that had been ill advised, and the light that filtered through the windows illuminated the fact that not a one of the employees was too keen on cleaning more than just the top layer of grime from any of the surfaces inside. It was the one place in town where Felicity felt truly able to cast every polished politeness and pretense aside, to be her true, unguarded self, whatever her mood may be.

_Never do get tired of this place_ , Felicity felt her heart swell fondly as the odor of sweat and stale beer, of bodies pressed into close quarters night after night reached her nose. _Don't give two shits how long the smell lingers._

“Cillian!” she called as she slipped inside, slamming the door behind her. “Get your arse out here and come say hello!”

_Never get tired of this asshole, either._

“Bit early, I'm afraid, love.” Heavyset and bumping seven feet tall, with ruddy cheeks and bushy brown hair, Cillian was Clifden's gentle giant. He'd never said for sure how old he was; Felicity would not have been surprised to learn that he was timeless, a fixture of Vaughn's as much as anything. She couldn't imagine a time when he had not been there, or a time when he would not be. “Can't start serving you until 10:30... ” He clapped his arm around her shoulders with affection. “Of course, all the times you've been in here, you've never had so much as a drop.”

Felicity shrugged her shoulders and grinned, her eyes twinkling. “You know as well as I do that I only come here for your charming company, Cillian.” She threw him a wink, buoyant in his easy company. “Maybe one of these days I'll actually get to see a bit of it.”

He groaned as he half-heartedly shoved her away from him. “Why are you here, anyway? Meant what I said, can't serve you anything. Although I could rustle up a bit of breakfast if you're hungry.”

Felicity's stomach churned as she flashed back to the last time she'd eaten and she pressed her palms against her gut trying to quell the rising acid. “No... no I'm not hungry.” She slid into her regular seat, the corner stool, the one that faced the doorway. “Just wanted to pop in and see you on my way out of town.”

Cillian scratched the side of his jaw, concern etching itself across his face. “You leaving? For good?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.” Felicity shook her head in careful denial. “Just... have to go see a... just have to go clear a few things up.”

She shifted in her seat, sending the beer bottles in her bag clanking against each other, and Cillian's eyebrows to the ceiling. “I see how it is. I'd know that sound anywhere... got something against my wares, but you drink just fine, don't you?” He chuckled under his breath. “And I thought we had something, you and I.”

“It's for a friend!” Felicity rolled her eyes. “Well, not a friend, exactly, but maybe he could be? I mean, it seems like he could use a friend. If he wants one. Which I'm not even sure he does. Or that he deserves one.” She stopped her chattering with forcible effort. “It's complicated.”

Cillian nodded along, seemingly understanding. “So you're going to go clear some things up with someone who may or may not need or want a friend, if, that is, you decide he's someone worth clearing things up with at all?”

“That's right.”

“Christ, girl. It's no wonder you need liquor.” He hiked his jeans up in the back before bending over to meet her eyes, elbows resting on the bar. “You be careful, yeah?”

_Fuck me, not you too._

“I'll be _fine.”_ She answered Cillian a little more forcibly than she'd intended, but Felicity didn't think she could take one more well-meaning but overly concerned person, peering at her as if she'd crack if handled too roughly. Her embarrassment passed across her face as she caught sight of his raised eyebrow and pursed lips. “Sorry, Cillian. I didn't mean to come at you like that. I... didn't sleep much last night.”

“Well, maybe if you work it out with this friend of yours, you won't sleep much tonight either!” Cillian dropped a bawdy wink at Felicity as her blush darkened. “Better get to it then. Don't you worry about a thing, little love. I'll save your seat for ya. You're damn near my only regular who likes that corner anyway.”

She slid from the stool, pulling the straps of her backpack tight against her shoulders, as she pushed past the tables and chairs toward the exit. “Well then... wish me luck.”

“Pretty little thing like you don't need luck,” Cillian grabbed a tattered white washcloth and began wiping down the bar. “Just make sure you stretch first!”

“Jesus Christ, Cillian.” Felicity muttered, stifling her grin as she shuffled out the front door, “Have some class, why don't you?”

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, shivering as much from nerves as from the chill in the air. Thick, fat storm clouds loomed overhead, heavy and threatening. She quickened her pace, wanting to get as far as possible before the rain came down on her head, slowing her journey and hindering her steps.

As soon as she had passed the last building at the edge of town, she broke into a jog, following the road toward the south, taking advantage of the paved surface before she was forced to leave the level ground for the less forgiving land of the Connemara hills.

_Give him the beer. Show him the food. There ain't a man alive who'd turn away a good meal._

The thought did little to reassure her; more prevalent was the fear that Thomas would toss her on her ass straightaway, and he'd do so happily. She wasn't even sure he'd be willing to recount his tale to anyone, let alone tell her.

_Just find the man, girl, for Christ's sake. Everything else'll come after._

For the first hour, Felicity focused on the road stretching ahead of her, the feel of the bag on her back, and the wind slowly gaining at her heels. Before too long, she reached the broken down fence where she'd turned from the road before, and the more difficult terrain set her heart racing. Beads of sweat rolled down her back, a sickening cocktail of terror and anticipation swimming through her gut, and her neck and shoulders began to feel the weight of the sundries she carried. Just as the familiar cliffs came into view, Felicity's feet slid on a patch of soggy grass, and she slipped, thrusting her palms forward to break her fall. Tiny pebbles dug into her hands, leaving pinpricks of stinging blood across her palms. Rising to her feet, she wiped her hands on the seat of her jeans, and with a muttered curse, she trudged on, swallowing the bile creeping into her throat.

And there, exactly where she had hoped it'd be, was the sight of Thomas' cottage. Her breathing quickened, veering dangerously toward hyperventilating; she closed her eyes in a herculean attempt to steady herself.

_He'll not do anything he hasn't already done. Worst you'll find is more of the same._

Pressing her finger against the mark on her lip once more, she ducked her head against the icy beginnings of raindrops, and headed toward his door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thomas and Felicity's relationship is intensifying- in more ways than one. His tastes run on the darker side, so readers should proceed aware and with caution. Definitely NSFW.

_Just put one foot in front of the other, girl._

Felicity hesitantly toed her way forward, swallowing hard against the dismay that rose in her throat. Gone was the quaint and quiet cottage she'd held in her memory; now it seemed a gray stone fortress looming in front of her, massive and daunting, insurmountable and terrifying. She swiped her hands roughly across her denim clad thighs to dry the nervous sweat from her palms, wincing as the scrapes from her fall brushed against the coarse fabric. She took a deep breath, then raised one trembling fist. She'd nearly garnered the courage to rap her knuckles across the knotted wood, when the panel banged open, ricocheting off of the damp, dark rock with a bang.

“You!” Thomas roared, eyes burning with white hot intensity. “You blasted little fool!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he filled the doorway, massive and menacing. Felicity took a reflexive step back, recoiling from the waves of indignation swelling beneath his skin.

“Hello, Thomas.” Her voice was steady and clear, even as she fought to quell the tension and anticipation taking root in her gut in equal measure. “I wanted to-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His sweatpants hung low around his hips, tattered black fabric worn threadbare against him beneath the soft white cotton of his t-shirt. He scruffed his fingertips back through his dampening ginger curls with resentful frustration.

_Jesus Christ, Thomas, can we please get through one bleeding second without the dramatics?_

“If you'd let me get a word in edgewise...” Felicity rolled her eyes and shrugged out of her backpack, holding it toward him, scarcely surprised when he gave no indication he noticed it at all clutched in her hand. She leveled a glare at him, stubbornly refusing to drop her arm, or to look away from his gloriously glowering expression.

Folding his arms over his chest, he dropped his voice to a low, menacing growl. “I told you before, I don't give two fat fucks what you've got to say.”

 _Grouse and grumble all you like there, Thomas._ Felicity swept her eyes over him with a carefully appraising glance at once cocky and confident. _I'm not here on your hospitality this time, and you'll not make me beholden to you. I'll say all and anything I care to._

“Weeping Christ, you stubborn old git.” She took a step closer to him, nudging the backpack once again toward him, the back of her hand brushing gently against his. “Why the devil did you bother asking me a question?”

Thomas visibly recoiled from her touch, moving his hand away from hers as if he'd been burned. His tongue darted over over his lips, scraping against his teeth as he watched her, the unrelenting weight of his stare making it more than clear he was not in any way considering his reply. His gaze was penetrating, intimate and intrusive, and all at once she realized she would have felt less exposed were she laid prostrate before him.

“As I was saying,” Felicity spoke low and even through her teeth, the edge in her voice cutting just a bit more sharply. “After you'd kicked me out, and I'd found my own way back to town...”

The snort that escaped Thomas was neither subtle nor restrained as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Can't really kick out a stray that was trespassing, and not at all welcome in the first place,” he sneered. “Certainly not as welcome as those _good Catholic Samaritans_ made you once they saw you stumbling back. I'm fair certain those bloody hens had a fat lot to say.” He narrowed his glare, the grit of his teeth making her flinch inside her skin. “They wound you up nice and tight, didn't they? Filled with all manner of righteous fury...” He leaned forward a bit, a maliciously curious gleam in his eye. “And now you've come to give me what for, eh?”

Felicity shrugged, her mouth set in a blatantly taunting smirk. “People do like to talk.” She flipped her dripping braid impatiently over her shoulder, quickly swiping the raindrops from her brow. “Christ's sake Thomas, look inside the blasted bag, would you?” She rustled it in her hands, allowing him to hear the sounds of the jostling contents. “Never know, you might see something you like.”

Thomas' eyes flashed to her face, his expression dark and unreadable; he waited only a moment before he charged from the entryway, the force of his approach nearly knocking her from her feet. His body radiated fury as he bore down on her and sent her scurrying backward, struggling to maintain her footing. “Oh, you are a stupid little scrap, aren't you? Wasn't enough you imposed on my graces wandering careless onto my land. Nor was it enough to drag yourself back to town for a heapin' help of gossip from those blinkered old biddies, no! You figured you'd not be well and finished 'til you'd paid another uninvited call to the Almighty Ruler of Darkness.” He scoffed, narrowing his eyes with derision, before hissing dangerously through his teeth. “Is that what this is all about, _brave and bold Felicity?_ You wanted to see the devil up close?”

“You're hardly the Devil, Thomas,” Felicity quipped. “I hear he has a fair bit of charm, and Lord knows you ain't got enough of that to save your own skin, let alone come after someone else's.”

“Then again,” he pressed on as if she hadn't spoken at all, “you've already proven you're another one who can't shut her fucking mouth.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her as he considered. “I'll bet you ran straight on home, primed plenty with a torrid tale to tell.”

“For fuck's sake, Thomas, I didn't tell anybody _anything_.” She watched his expression darken deeper as she spoke with exaggerated slowness. _You're on dangerous ground here, girl, wavin' a sharp stick at an angry bear. You've no one to blame but your own stubborn self for what comes after._ The warning was faint, and only just registered, flitting across her consciousness and vanishing as quickly as it had come as she watched the twitch rippling through his fingers. Before she was fully aware, her mouth was moving once more, her brilliantly biting sarcasm ringing clear in her words.

“Although, come to think of it, might be wise to keep an eye out that way, the hordes with pitchforks could show up at any second.”

Thomas curled his lip at her insolence, then spat on the ground at her feet,. “Make your jokes, girl. You won't find it near as funny when I've put you on your arse before sending you on your way.”

Flicking the falling rain from her brow, Felicity allowed the grin she'd been stifling to break at last across her face. “You would never, Thomas. You'd miss me far too much.”

Thomas' eyes narrowed to murderous slits, his tone steely as a blade being drawn from a sheath, and just as dangerous. “Stupid, stubborn little stray. I made it clear as fucking crystal when I rousted you out before that you were not welcome here. And yet, here you are, back on my step like some sort of sodden stain I can't scrub.” His hands clenched into fists as he forced them down to his sides, knuckles white as bone and shaking. “Do you want to die, little wretch, or have you just naught a care if you do? Tell me what could possibly be going through that daft little head of yours.”

Discouraged, dismayed, and only just starting to feel the deep, biting sting of his rejection, Felicity sniffed as quietly as she could before tossing her chin a notch higher in defiance. “I thought at least you'd show some blasted gratitude for sincerely offered thanks!” Her lips curled into a snarl as she shoved the bag against his chest, pushing roughly against him before he snatched it from her hands and flung it to the ground, staring her down over the tinkling sounds of colliding glass. “Hope you didn't break anything,” she snipped. “Didn't your mam and dad give you any sense at all?” She took in his shocked expression with vicious pleasure. “No, I don't reckon they did. I'm fair certain they booted you out first they were able.”

His hand shot out like a lightning strike, quick and precise; his fingers grasped her by her hair, snapping the flimsy elastic that held it bound as he yanked her head back to expose the creamy freckled skin of her neck. Felicity's hands shot out to press against the solid ram of his body, hissing as her raw, grated palms skittered against his shirt. He ran his fingers from her chin to her collarbone, and back to her throat, pressing down roughly on her fluttering pulse as his eyes burned into hers.

“If I'm to break something, you horrid little harpy, I'd fare much better starting here.”

Angry tears sprung to the corners of her eyes as she twisted and turned underneath his hands, her fingernails scraping against his wrists as she grabbed at them, grappling for leverage. “Let me go, Thomas!” Her voice came out in a harsh croak as he pressed down against her neck.

“Oh, now you're so eager to get away...” he brought his face down to meet hers, raindrops sliding freely down his skin as he murmured gruffly against the shell of her ear. “Didn't plan on getting caught, did you? All the brazen bluster in the world coming from that mouth of yours, and none of it to save you now?”

 _I've got more than talk to save my hide, Thomas Hiddleston._ Felicity fought to take a deep breath as she struggled to regain control. _No bloody way my Dad would let me walk a single step at night without knowing a thing or two._

  
Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she lunged to the side, swinging her arm to bring her open palm toward his face. It took a moment for her mind to register that the sound she heard of skin stinging skin was not her slapping his cheek, but him catching her wrist, holding her motionless in his grip. With her neck free, she took in a big gulp of air, her throat burning and color flooding her cheeks as the oxygen rushed to her lungs. Felicity watched the torrent of angry words bubbling to his lips, saw the exact moment that the scrapes on her hands caught his attention instead. She stared, trembling, her breath held tightly in her throat as he brought her hand close to his face to examine the blood weaving crimson trails across her palm, collecting in fat drops which threatened to slide down her wrists.

_If ye want your chance, Felicity Dolan, now's it._

She inhaled sharply as she felt Thomas' hot breath against her skin, searing heat against the icy raindrops sliding over her hand.

_You're close enough to claw that pretty face of his to hell and back, a good swift kick to his altogether, and you've got yourself a mighty fine head start._

Her plans were brought to a crashing halt by Thomas' mouth closing wetly over her flesh, his lips suckling at her skin as his tongue laved over her wounds, his deep groan of appreciation as he tasted her blood rumbling in his chest. He dragged his teeth roughly over the scrapes on her palm, paying no heed to her hiss of pain. She allowed her eyelids to slide closed, a breathy gasp escaping her lips as her fingers curled against the wiry russet scruff on his chin, dancing over his beard, tracing his mustache before tentatively brushing against his cheeks. She felt an unquestionable pull deep within her, her belly twisting and flipping deliciously as the wet sucking sounds from Thomas' ministrations filled her ears. Opening her eyes, she rose up on her tiptoes, snaking her free hand up and around his' neck, pressing gently against him to bring his lips to meet hers.

Thomas jerked his mouth from her hand and froze, unyielding and immovable, his fingers tangled in her hair holding her head still as he met her gaze, his expression unreadable. She never looked away from him as her heart pounded away in her chest, beating in tandem with the rain falling to the ground. Her knees trembled underneath her and she clutched at his shirt, absently playing her tongue over the break in her lip. For just a single heartbeat, she saw his lips curl in a small but satisfied smile before he released her abruptly, turning on his heel to disappear back into his house.

 _Fool me once,_ Felicity thought wryly as she clenched her teeth, waiting for the sound of the door slamming behind him. _I can't believe that bloody bastard has done this to me twice over._

She clutched at her sodden clothes, her body shaking uncontrollably as the chill soaked through to her bones. A sob broke free from her lips as pain and embarrassment tore through her, and she hugged her arms over her midsection, only slightly taken aback by the rusty, abiding ache of misery twisting through it.

 _You can stop all that whinging right this second, Felicity Dolan, you ain't known the man but a couple of days._ _All and sundry in that town you chose done warned you off him. So he's got a bit o' philanderin' in him, ain't a man alive who doesn't. That don't mean you've got to stay here and play goose to his gander though._

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and she turned anxiously back toward town, trying desperately to figure how she could possibly make it home in the downpour without one uncertain footstep on the rocks sending her straight into the ocean below.

 _Bleeding Christ, girl, you_ are _the fool he's branded you. You ain't afraid to make the wet and weary trek home. You just don't want to. And it ain't got a damn bit to do with the weather._

She swiped the tears from her eyes with an angry scoff before gently running one finger over the path that Thomas' tongue had traced across her hand. Her thoughts wandered, clinging to the memory of his beard ticking against her skin, the way the heat from his breath had sent her heart into her throat.

_That man sure does know how to use his mouth, that's for damn certain._

She squared her shoulders with a weary sigh, cast a glance over her shoulder at the cottage behind her.

_Well, I'll be damned..._

The door to the tiny house stood propped wide open, fat droplets of water splattering unchecked against Thomas' wooden floor.

 _Go_ home _, you stupid girl!_ _You are asking for trouble in heaps if you set even one toe 'cross his threshold._

She mentally shook herself as she stood staring at the open doorway, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt and drawing patterns in the mud with the toe of her boot as she considered.

_Course, you've never run from trouble a day in your life. Most people steer clear of a storm with all the sense God gave 'em. You've always run straight to it, comeuppance be dammed._

She opened her palms to the rain, watched as the lines of welling red faded to pink, the tiny streams flowing along the trail his touch had left on her to patter quietly to the earth below. She nudged her tongue once more at the split in her lip, felt the sweet sting burrow its way down to join the abiding ache deep in her core. Lifting her chin, she held her head high and clenched her fists at her sides, walking purposefully into Thomas' house and shutting the door behind her.

He was standing at the foot of the bed, leaning through the open shutters, his back to her. He'd stripped his soaked t-shirt from his body, letting it fall in a heap at his feet; his chestnut curls dripped droplets of water down his back.

When he didn't turn around, Felicity's bravado fled, and she nervously cleared her throat, feeling every bit the errant child called to the carpet for a reprimand.

Thomas didn't so much as flinch.

_What the blazes do I do now?_

The only sound she could hear, save the rain drumming away on the roof were her own shallow breaths, and the _pat-pit-pit-pat_ of her clothes dripping on his floor. She fidgeted self-consciously, combing her fingertips through her tangled and disheveled locks, trying fruitlessly to straighten her shirt, even though there came not so much as a flicker of acknowledgment from the man standing brooding across the room. She heaved a reluctantly admiring sigh at his broad back.

_You know damn good and well he's not going to come to you. Gonna be stubborn to the last._

A small grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

_Don't suppose he'd be himself if he weren't._

Felicity's hands fluttered nervously to her collar, trembling slightly as they loosed the buttons from their holes before she pulled her shirt over her head, dropping it directly to the floor. She kicked her boots from her feet, leaving them in a muddy heap, before peeling her jeans slowly from her legs. She kept her eyes trained on the even rise and fall of Thomas' shoulders, coiling her hair into a knot and squeezing the excess water from it, sending it splashing around her feet. Shivering from more than just the chill to her skin, Felicity crossed her arms over her middle, then shook her head and forced them to her sides.

_All right then, you little coward. Nowhere to hide yourself now. Nothing he can do to you that you ain't standing here hopin' for._

Her wet feet slapped against the wood as she crept forward, her breath caught in her throat as she approached him.

_Been a good long while since you had a man, and never in your life one like this. Maybe a little rough and tumble would set you both to rights._

She stood behind him, close but not touching, waiting for him to turn. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, her fingers ached with need to touch him. The smells of pounding surf, of freshly sawn oak and wind-whipped grass filled her nose and made her sway every so slightly on her feet. Timidly, she placed her palms between his shoulders, delighting in the subtle twitch of his muscles beneath her touch. Slowly, purposefully, she slid her hands across his sides, around to his front, teasing her fingertips over his belly. She felt his breathing, still slow and steady as she moved against him, and though he did not pull away from her, he made no move toward her, either.

“Thomas,” she whispered longingly, forehead pressed against the flesh of his back. She heard him swallow roughly at the sound of her voice, and moving on instinct, she lifted her head, rose up on her tiptoes and pressed one small, sweet, gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

A snarl tore from his lips as Thomas turned from the window, snatching Felicity's hair in his fist, and pulling her face to his. He forced her lips open, his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth, teeth scraping her lips as he grabbed at the faded satin of her bra, twisting and pulling to free her breasts from their confinement. A flick of his wrist and he'd shoved the shiny green binding down underneath them, trussing her up to his liking. His thumb and forefinger pinched and tugged at one rosy red nipple, the ache from the assault nothing to the white-hot flash of pain when he released it. She gasped in shock and cried out, the sounds of her torment lost beneath his lips. She trembled against him, adrenaline surging through every muscle and nerve as he ground his fleece covered erection against the cleft between her legs, backing her slowly toward the bed. The backs of her knees hit the mattress; knocked her off balance and stumbling over her own feet, she fell backwards onto the bed with a soft grunt.

_Please, Thomas. I need you, need...something._

Felicity nervously licked her lips as she stretched her arms above her head, all at once desperate to taste the salt of his skin.

_I don't care a whit what they said about you. I'm not afraid._

Thomas slid the waistband of his pants over his thighs before letting them fall to the floor, stepping smoothly out of them. Every muscle and sinew of his body rippled with the movement, and Felicity couldn't stop the quiet gasp that escaped her. His chest was taut and well defined with a smattering of ginger hair beneath his navel. It descended in an enticing trail that ended in a soft, downy tuft at the base of his cock, now flushed angry red and fully erect, leaking from the tip. He growled, low and rumbling as he tightened his fist around his length, rutting shamelessly into his hand before climbing across Felicity's body, pressing his knee roughly between her thighs to force them open.

“Too late to say no,” he breathed, his teeth sinking ruthlessly into her shoulder. The scruff on his face burned flames on her skin as he dragged it over her flesh. “Struggle and scream all you like, not even your god will hear you.” His touch was firm and certain as his hands traveled down her body, his fingers hooked into the elastic of her panties, the fabric stretching against his pull before it gave way and fell from her hips completely. He grasped his cock in his hand, rubbing it against her cleft, chuckling darkly as she squirmed impatiently beneath him.

“Thomas... ” she whispered her reply sweetly against his neck, before tugging against his curls to bring his face to hers so she could press a gentle kiss against his lips. “Yes.”

With an impatient snarl, Thomas grasped Felicity's hips, and flipped her to her stomach, grabbing a handful of her fiery locks and shoving her head against the bed. Her face hit the mattress with a muted thud, forcing the air from her lungs in a harsh gasp. She moved shamelessly against him, the flutter of burning sensation that had taken root in her belly in Thomas' presence surging to a raging inferno. He snapped his hips and in one fluid motion, slid within her to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he swore, his voice gravelly and strained. “Such a tight little cunt. So goddamn hot and wet for me, are you?”

For once, Felicity couldn't find the words to answer.

He set a punishing rhythm, skin slapping skin as raindrops dried and turned to beads of sweat, dripping from his forehead to land in a storm across her back. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, nails pressing angry red half-moons into her skin. His pace never faltered, never slowed, and when she felt him swell within her, his cock hardening as it slid across the gripping walls of her cunt, she knew he was close.

“Give me what's mine, girl.” Thomas reached around between her legs, spreading her swollen lips to gain access to the plump bud within. Her arousal dripped from her as his fingers circled her clit, sending sharp spikes of sensation through her.

Felicity fisted the blankets, trying to gain leverage to scramble from his touch. “No,” she whimpered breathlessly. “Not yet... please.. ”

_It can't be over yet, not now._

Her brain wheeled as she tried to find a way to stall the orgasm he was sure to wring from her.

_When he's done, he'll turn me out, and I just... I just can't bear it._

Felicity screwed her eyes shut and did her best to ignore the irresistible pull within her, coiling and unfurling in response to Thomas' command.

He brusquely released her hair and brought his palm across her ass in a stinging slap that she would certainly feel for days. “Now, Felicity!” The dominance in his voice was irrefutable, but clearer still was the impression that he did not simply expect obedience, he would settle for nothing less. Her body rushed to surrender to him, the waves of her orgasm cresting within her, crashing and leaving her shattered when she felt Thomas lean his forehead against her back, thrusting into her with abandon before he froze, the groan leaving his mouth brutal and beautifully feral. She could feel every spasm of his cock as he spilled hot and thick within her.

And then the world was abruptly, utterly still, the only sounds to be heard the relentless raindrops on the roof, and their heavy, heaving breaths. His weight upon her pressed closer momentarily, and then he slipped his softening cock from inside her, rolling away from her and pulling the blankets to his chin.

Felicity laid motionless on his bed, her fingers curled loosely in the quilt, feeling his come leaking from her to pool on the sheets between her thighs.

_He didn't ask me to leave..._

She chanced a glance across the bed at Thomas, her teeth sinking uncertainly into her bottom lip. His form lay lax and loose against his pillow, his shoulder rose and fell in smoothly, steady tandem with his slowing respirations. She couldn't see his face; she was all but certain his eyes were closed.

_Not the same as asking you to stay, now, is it?_

Over and over, she turned the thoughts in her head, trying to decide whether she ought to stay and chance another dark and surly confrontation in the morning, or cut her losses and slip from his bed before he awoke. And in those quiet, contemplative moments after her lids had finally drooped and closed, just as the sweet embrace of sleep reached out its hand to pull her under, she felt it, whisper soft, so gentle she nearly missed it.

Rough, callused fingers brushing her sweat dampened hair from the back of her neck, the silky scratch of whiskers against her skin, the warm and gentle press of lips against her shoulder.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: More NSFW in this chapter- readers should note that while Thomas and Felicity's relationship may at times run in a similar vein to BDSM, they should not be considered part of the lifestyle. He does what works for him, she does what works for her, and they find their way together, and should in no way be considered an example to anyone but each other.

Felicity stretched her arms languidly over her head, screwing her eyes shut against the light spilling from the open window next to her. She knew it was late, far later than she usually slept, and in her dreamlike haze, the explanation as to why took a moment to come to her. When she realized where she was, whose bed she'd slept in, her breathing quickened and her pulse raced, a crimson flush rising over her skin to stain her cheeks.

_Thomas._

She clasped her hand to her chest, relishing the feeling of her raw and tender skin brushing against the blanket pooled over her breasts. Her lips turned in a small smile that grew wider as she stretched and was met with a welcome ache and pull across her shoulders, a lingering sting spread over her scalp.

_Did last night really happen?_

She chewed pensively on her lower lip, allowing herself to bathe in the cascade of sensation; the burn on the inside of her thighs, the sore spot against the fleshy curve of her ass, the memory of the his voice as he'd ordered her to do as he bade her.

_I'm fair certain it did._

Her hair tangled across the pillow, billowing red waves swelling and spilling over the sheets. Her smile grew as she turned, tucking her fingertips into the quilt to bring it with her as she moved. The bed next to her was empty, and when she passed her hand over the faded cotton landscape, the chill told her it had been so for awhile.

_Alone again,_ Felicity thought wryly, slapping the blankets with a thump before sitting up. _Well, you can say a great many things, but you can't say in truth that I'm surprised._

She slid from the warmth of the sheets and padded across the frigid floor, poking her head out the open window at the front of the house. The wind tugged playfully at her long locks, the icy gusts sending goosebumps across her skin, but she could see neither hide nor hair of Thomas.

_Blasted coward ran off again,_ Felicity chewed on her lower lip, trying to stifle the irritation churning in her gut. _Least he did so without a show this time._

Quickly crossing the floor, she sauntered toward the bathroom, stopping to snatch one of Thomas' shirts off the hook on the wall. She shrugged her arms through the well-worn flannel, slipping the buttons deftly through the buttonholes, shimmying her hips to let it slide down down her body to her knees before passing her hand longingly over the slope of Thomas' bathtub, rubbing her thumb reverently over the thin patina forming underneath the ledge. Restless, she wandered into the kitchen only to find her backpack shoved in a heap by the front door, unzipped just enough to reveal a single bottle of beer gone missing.

_Least he has his priorities in order, I'll give the man that much,_ Felicity snorted flippantly, shrugging her shoulders. _Could stand to do with some basic decency, but he's got no falsity in him, that's for certain._

She passed her hand gently along the back of Thomas' chair, before moving to the other. _Should I sit here and wait for him?_ She settled into the worn, wooden seat, folding her legs beneath her to rest her chin on her knees.

_You know sure as shite that man isn't going to come to you one second before he's willing. And you could be waiting the whole day away if he ain't._ She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, willing inspiration to strike her, but finding only the memory of the white glint of Thomas teeth, the smirk on his lips, and his weight across her back behind her lids.

_I could... I could go find him?_

Her hand slapped the table with a resounding thump, her impatience rising.

_You haven't a single solitary clue where he's gone off to. You're just as likely to lose yourself as you are to come across someone who doesn't want to be found._

Felicity shoved the chair back from the table abruptly, the legs scraping noisily against the wood.

_Christ on His cross, you stupid girl. Get off your arse and make a choice, anything's better than dithering around here like some sort of helpless half-wit._

She pulled the front door open and stepped surely across the threshold, bare feet squishing in the damp grass. The wind whipped Thomas' shirt around her legs, sending her hands to instinctively smooth it down before a glance around her reminded her there was no need.

_Think about it, Felicity,_ she peered across the horizon, looking for some sign of where Thomas had gone. _Where the devil would he go?_

Moving on instinct, she traipsed through the grass, soggy strands brushing across her calves as she walked down toward the water. The sun warmed her shoulders, rays of light caressing the copper spill of her hair.

_Can't explain it to yourself even if you tried, can you, girl?_ _Why every last bit of your body tells you to stay when every single thought in your head screams at you to go._

Felicity fiddled with a stray strand of flannel on the cuff of her shirt.

_Sure, he's a mighty fine lay, but it's more than that._

A grin broke across Felicity's face as the hill rose underneath her feet, and she saw at last the very cliffs she'd nearly tumbled from, with Thomas settled solidly atop them. The wind rifled through his curls, across his broad back, his muscles easily visible through his t-shirt. Even from steps away, Felicity could tell that he was tense, a flicker here and a ripple there speaking more than the man himself ever did.

_I know it's more than that._

She self-consciously smoothed her hands over her hair, reaching around behind her back to tug at the ends, before closing the last few feet between them.

“There you are, Thomas.” Felicity breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped gingerly over the rocks to join him, settling to sit beside him, her feet dangling over the precipice. She nodded her head toward the open beer in his hand. “See you've helped yourself.”

Thomas tipped his head back, drinking deeply, his eyes never flickering from the crashing waves below them.

“I was wonderin' where you went,” she babbled, feeling the flush creep across her skin. “When I woke up and you were gone, I thought... well, I thought... but I should have known you'd not stray far. You never leave these hills, do you?” The silence extended awkwardly, endlessly, until Felicity realized that he had no intention of answering her.

_Please, Thomas, say something. Talk to me._

She bumped her shoulder against his, forcing what she hoped was a good-natured expression. “So how'd you end up out here, on your own? Just started walking and laid down roots when you figured you ought to stop?”

Another long drink, the beer swishing around the bottom of the bottle.

_I'll crack you over top your head with the bloody thing if you don't start talking,_ Felicity seethed, clawing her fingers into the dirt and rocks beneath her in an effort to calm the temper swelling within her. _Can fuck me fine and dandy without so much as a by-your-leave, but you think you've got no reason to speak to me civil?_

“What about a job?” She reached out tentatively to brush her fingertips across the smattering of hair on his arm, only to pull her hand back when he jerked away from her. “How d'you come about your money? You've got to do something for work, want to tell me what it is?”

Thomas snorted toward the horizon, but made no move to turn his eyes to hers.

_For fuck's sake, Thomas. Don't suppose you'll go out of your way for anyone, will you? Not in the habit of lifting a finger for anyone save yourself._

Felicity's mind wheeled, searching for the words to say, for the way to say them- anything to crack Thomas' exterior. “Tell me about your parents then. They're somewhere around here, I'd imagine?” She stared plaintively at the side of his face, willing him to speak out loud, longing to smooth her fingers over the sudden clench of his jaw.

“You think because you spread your legs for me like some sort of back-alley whore that changes one blasted thing? Thought I'd spill out my life, bit for bit, did you, eh?”

She jumped, the sudden loud tone of Thomas' voice breaking the silence as her eyes snapped up to meet his, finding them cold and angry when he met her blink for blink over top his bottle. “There's heaps of girls who'd fancy a tussle, and I daresay a lad or two as well. You dragged your sodden ass up here twice over, that doesn't make you special.” He tipped the amber colored glass skyward as he took a long sip. “Makes you stupid.”

Felicity snatched the bottle from Thomas' hand, and scrambled to her feet, tiny pebbles scattering downward into oblivion in her wake. “You listen to me, Thomas Hiddleston.” She jabbed her finger in his face, spilling angry words from her lips without a care. “There _ain't_ heaps of girls linin' up to take a turn with you! Safe to say they'd sooner close their doors for always than have you take a stab at 'em.”

“You're bloody daft-”

“I ain't _done_ talking.” Felicity all but growled the words through clenched teeth. “I've listened to you run your mouth more than I ought, so you can damn well close it now.”

He snorted in disbelief, expression sharp and surly, eyebrow cocked above his steely blue glare.

“There's no one here for you because they've fucking driven themselves half mad for fear of you! Now I've bet a fat lot that's naught but tales and talk, but if I'm wrong, then just tell me now.” Her mossy eyes flashed dangerously as her rage simmered higher, burning molten before bubbling over. “You'd better well give me something to go on, or you're no better than the beast they've named you for!” She took a deep draught from Thomas' beer, wiping the tawny liquid from her lips with the back of her hand.

Thomas rose to his feet, slow and predatory as he closed the distance between them. “And tell me, Felicity,” the corners of his lips curled slightly, barely perceptible beneath the scruff on his chin. “Did you come here to save me?” He crooked one finger beneath her stubbornly set jaw, forcing her eyes upward to meet his. She tried to turn her head, but his iron grip held her steady.

“What if they were right all along?” He mused quietly, rubbing his thumb gently over her trembling lip.

“They're not...” she protested softly, but she heard the lack of conviction in her tone, and as evidenced by his taunting smirk, so did he.

_You are in over your head, Felicity Dolan. You'd best run on home, and forget this ever happened. Find your place, girl._

“What if I am _just_ as they say?” His eyes burned into hers, his gaze careful and measured, with an undercurrent of mocking disdain.

Her insides clenched at his words, the dull ache within her blooming to acute need. Her breasts heaved with each panting breath, rosy nipples pebbled and straining beneath Thomas' shirt.

“What if...” His voice ensnared her, the trap he laid deep, dark, and deathly quiet. “I don't care to be saved?”

She jerked her chin away from his grasp and clasped her arms defensively across her chest, acutely aware of the hammering of her own heart beneath them.

_I have to know._

“I ain't run from you, yet, Thomas.” Felicity ran her tongue over her lips, swallowing against the lump painfully lodged in her parched throat. “I'm not likely to start now.”

There was a heartbeat of silence between them, before Thomas' hand shot out like lightning, his fingers twisting in the strands of her hair, pulling her along behind him with such speed she found herself scrambling in effort to keep pace. Rocks dug into the soles of her feet as they moved, but if Thomas heard her quiet gasps of pain, he paid them no heed.

“Thomas!” Felicity winced as she felt a flurry of fine hairs popping free from her scalp under his grip. “Let me go, for fuck's sake, I can fair well walk on my own.”

If anything, his hold on her hair clenched a little tighter.

“Stop it!” she shrieked loudly as he wrenched his door open, and shoved her inside, slamming it shut behind them. Felicity could feel the pounding of her pulse in the throbbing vessels beneath her jaw, her breath came in sharp, short puffs, as she backed herself up against the door. Thomas' eyes were blown so black she could scarcely find the blue, a feral snarl forming across his lips as he wheeled on her.

“Shut your bleedin' mouth,” he slammed the palm of his hand on the wall next to her head, making her jump. “If I want it open, I'll say so.”

Felicity pressed her lips together and wound her arms behind her back, knitting her fingers together as she looked up at him, nervous excitement coloring her gaze.

_Bound and determined to scare me straight, are you? Takes a lot more than a sharp word or two to turn me coward._

“So,” Thomas' voice was clear and commanding as he moved across the floor toward the trunk at the foot of his bed. “Got a yearnin' to step off your prim and proper pedestal, do you?”

Felicity rolled her eyes at him. “I think you'll find me neither prim nor-” The retort fell from her lips before his angry glare rendered her silent.

Thomas paused a moment more, his eyes crawling leisurely over her face as he lifted the aged latches on the lid, pushed the trunk wide open. Pulling a thick coil of rough spun rope from its contents, he tossed it on the bed, then turned unhurriedly back to face her. He crooked a single finger her direction, beckoning her towards him. Slowly, she obeyed, closing the distance between them, until they were face to face, a hair's breadth of space between his body and hers.

“So eager,” Thomas murmured against her lips, the wiry hairs from his beard brushing against her face. “So willing.” In an uncharacteristically gentle move, he pushed the coppery waves of her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek for a beat before dropping his hand to delve between her slick and slippery folds. “And already dripping for me.” His voice turned mocking as he roughly pushed two fingers inside her, catching her easily when she fell against him. “Makes you quite the little slut, I'd say.” He methodically unbuttoned her shirt, tracing his fingers between her breasts, softly flitting over her belly before he stepped back from her, ignoring her cry as she tried to follow.

“Give me your hands.”

Felicity stood on trembling knees as he lashed her arms together, winding the thick braids between and around her hands, jerking the knots roughly to cinch them together. She breathed in deep as she watched him work, his brow knit in concentration as he twined an elaborate pattern over her wrists. She gasped when he pulled her bonds securely against her flesh.

“Too tight, is it?” He chuckled with sinister amusement at the grimace twitching across her lips.

“No, Thomas,” she grunted as he shoved her forward onto the mattress. “Not a bit.”

A soft rustle of fabric, and the mattress dipped as Thomas knelt on the bed behind her.

“I can fix that.”

His voice was low in her ear as he draped himself over her back, his weight heavy against her. She felt his cock nudge against the swollen lips of her cunt, taunting her, begging her to move against him. She arched her back, opening herself up to his advances when she felt a series of sharp blows rain over the fleshy curves of her ass, her cries rising in chorus with the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Acting quite the whore, aren't we?” He grabbed her wrists and forced them above her head, lashing them against the headboard. “Stop your squalling and tell me when it hurts.”

Felicity tried to stifle her instinctual jolt of disappointment. “So you can stop?”

“No, stupid girl.” He gripped her thighs, forcing her to spread wide before he wrapped his rope tightly around them as well, securing them open. “So I don't.”

Thomas dragged two fingers over her pussy, pinching her swollen clit roughly. “Look at you, you simpering slut.” He pushed his fingers past her opening, curling them until she sucked in a sharp breath, screwing her eyes shut with the effort to keep still. “Is this what you want?” He withdrew his hand slowly, circling his thumb over her folds until she keened beneath him.

“Or maybe this?”

Abruptly, and without preamble, he forced his cock inside her, grunting as her walls gripped him tightly, fluttering around his length. “ _There's_ what this little cunt is after.... so tight and wet... so deliciously willing.” His fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her back against him, stretching her bound arms to their limit. “You think this the beginning to a pretty little romp, do you? Slow and sweet, maybe?”

_I'd bet my arse you ain't got a slice of slow or sweet in you._

“You think I'm going to bring you to the brink, and we'll over together, fair as wine and roses?” His hand came down on her again, brutal stinging slaps that left her breathless, heaving choking sobs only barely muffled by the tangle of sheets.

_I knew fair well what I was asking,_ Felicity twisted against her bonds, shocked by the thrill the scrape of the rope set alight within her. _I'd no idea it would be like this..._

Her tears started flowing freely, winding thin tracks over her cheeks. “No, Thomas-” her pained hiss choked the words in her throat, her voice rendering only sobs instead. “ _For fuck's sake,_ stop it!”

“Someone seems to have a fat lot of trouble keeping her mouth shut,” he taunted. “Let's see if we can't give you something to scream about.”

Felicity felt the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into her shoulder, knew the exact moment he broke the skin, fat drops of blood welling to the surface of her flesh. She shrieked a pained cry, writhing and squealing as Thomas nipped at her neck, sucking large purple blemishes to the surface.

“Don't you fucking dare,” he breathed against her skin. “I feel that greedy cunt of yours, desperate to come on my cock.”

_Oh, you right bastard. Don't_ you _fucking dare..._

“You don't come unless I give you leave,” Thomas pumped his cock within her, harder, faster. “And tonight, I don't give you leave at all.”

Felicity closed her eyes, warring with the two sides of herself- the side desperate to loose the coil tightly wound within her that would send her spiraling into the abyss she craved, or the growing part of her that yearned to wade deeper into the dark, churning waters which were all at once becoming more comfortable than she'd ever thought they would.

_It's not like he can stop me..._

The temptation to take her pleasure into her own hands was fleeting, the promise of its hollow reward unsatisfactory.

_He'd never know._

But she knew he would, that he'd be able to pinpoint the second exactly when her body betrayed her, betrayed him. And more than anything, in this moment, she wanted to do as he'd asked, be as he'd commanded. So when she answered, her voice was clear and true.

“I'd never dream of it... sir.”

“Fucking Christ... Felicity,” he rasped, thrusting deeply inside her before he froze, taut and rigid against her back. His roar of release came from deep within him, his nails digging sharply into the flesh of her hips as he came. She felt him relax on top of her, her muscles twitching and twisting beneath his weight. He languidly shifted his hips, his softening cock slipping easily from her cunt, sending shockwaves through her as he grazed it over her swollen and throbbing clit.

She drifted on waves of sensual satisfaction, the sharp pangs of longing tightening in her gut twining in tandem with the lingering flush of fire on her skin. Her eyes blurred and focused, over and again until they lit on his face. Thomas lay next to her, leaning up on one elbow to watch her, lips twitching in indulgent amusement. “Thought maybe you'd decided to sleep that way,” he smirked, tracing his fingertips down her spine. She shivered in her bonds underneath his touch, her hips twitching reflexively toward him. “If you can manage to close your eyes at all, that is?”

“Be a fat lot easier if you untied me first,” she grumbled beneath her breath, biting back the urge to smile when Thomas' chuckle washed over her, warm, and even welcoming. He unwound her bonds with efficient precision, scraping the fibers of the robe against the welts already raising around her wrists, circling her thighs. She stretched her legs straight, sighing as the tension melted away from her limbs. He watched her a moment more, before turning away from her, settling onto his stomach, arms folded beneath his head.

_Oh, I bet you're feeling grand,_ Felicity thought with a smirk. _Dipped your wick nice and proper, you did. Good and ready to take a rest, are you?_

“Hey, Thomas?” she pushed his shoulder playfully. “You out yet?”

“I'll gag that trap of yours, if you can't shut it yourself,” came the muffled reply. “Stop your yappin' and go to sleep, or you can ask your questions somewhere else.”

“Goodnight, Thomas,” she murmured sweetly. She listened to the sounds of his breathing, willing herself to hold still beside him.

_I have never been so_ used, she thought wearily, relaxing into the welcoming embrace of the mattress. _Leaves me wet and wanting, he does, and for what? Because he thinks he can roll back over and slide his cock on in whenever he pleases?_

His breathing slowed, quieted, leaving him nearly silent before soft snores sounded beside her, telling Felicity that Thomas had surrendered to sleep.

_You know he can, girl. You know you'd fall to your knees and suck him senseless right now if he so much as asked._

For a brief moment she wondered how far she'd get if she simply peeled back the sheet loosely draped over his waist, and took his still-softening cock into her mouth, sheathing his length within her throat while he pulled her hair taught against her scalp, forcing her head down until she was left breathless, coughing and sputtering while he took her.

_You'd still do that for him? When he took his without so much as a please and thank you, and gave you naught?_

She smiled to herself, a small secret quirk of her lips beneath the blankets gathered in her fists and pulled to her chin, squirming contentedly as she drifted off to sleep.

_Aye._

Felicity woke early, the warmth and pressure of the hand slung heavily across her hip pulling her from dreams of browns and greens, of push and pull, light and dark. She laid motionless, listening to the calm, even breathing of the man beside her, before carefully slipping from his grasp. Sitting on the edge of Thomas' bed, she moved gingerly, rolling her neck, stretching against the ache in her muscles. She traced her fingers over the rope marks adorning each wrist, biting back a grin at the angry red evidence of the night before. Smoothing her hair away from her neck, she saw the dried blood that was smeared over her shoulder. It would wash away easy enough, but the bite from Thomas' teeth was clean and true, and would surely last for days. She stood and raised her arms above her head, wincing at the sharp flash of pain that twisted through her limbs as she moved. Casting one more glance at Thomas, sheets pooled around his waist, one hand softly laying on his chest, she crept across the room, and out the front door.

Shortly after, Felicity came struggling across the threshold, carrying a large bucket of water. “For fuck's sake, the man could come up with a better system,” she grumbled. “Would take half the day to fill that bleedin' tub of his. Bet that thing ain't seen water even once.”

“Takes less trips if you carry two...” Thomas' voice sounded from the bed, and Felicity's head jerked up at the sound. “Put your back into it, why don't you?”

“Would be even faster if you got up off your arse and did it yourself,” she teased, biting back her smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

_Sure is nice to see him at ease in the morning._

“Don't see how,” he replied. “You never did clean up your mess just there.” He jutted his chin toward her pile of clothes on his floor.

“Right, then.” Felicity set the water bucket on the kitchen table, bending to retrieve her strewn belongings with a suggestive little wiggle, before folding them carefully and placing them beside it. “Are you hungry? I could fix us up a bite or two.” She began unpacking the food from her backpack, tucking the bread away in the oven, tossing the cheese and sausage in the basket next to the stove. She had just pulled a handful of pears from her bag and moved to tuck them in as well, when he stopped her.

“Those don't go there.”

“Sorry.” She turned toward him with an easy smile. “Where then?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, smirk forming on his lips as he tilted his head toward the table.

She moved smoothly around Thomas' kitchen, humming as she worked to set everything to rights. He watched her for a few moments more, before rolling from beneath the sheets to join her, landing a sharp smack across her ass.

_Could get used to this,_ she turned and grinned at him, longing tightening in her gut. _Ain't a bit of skin off my hide to be holed up here with him._

Thomas reached over her shoulder and grabbed a pear from the table, biting into the juicy flesh as he pressed his hardening length against her thigh.

_You shouldn't be getting used to this._

Felicity closed her eyes briefly as she warred with herself, fighting the rising urge within her to press back against him.

_You've got a smart head on those shoulders of yours, USE IT. Pretty he may be, but ain't a girl alive who'd be fine getting hauled around the way you've been._

“So...” she shook head to clear her errant thoughts. “What did you say about breakfast?”

_You were more than fine, Felicity Dolan. You well and begged him for it, you know you did._

She suddenly found herself unbalanced, ill at ease beneath the casual heat of his scrutinizing gaze.

_Think. Think about what you're doing. You're plenty happy now, playing house with Clifden's cast-off. But what does that make you?_

Thomas spun her around to face him, holding her wrists in his hand to examine the burns etched in decorative braids across her skin, satisfaction showing plainly on his face. “These'll last you a good long while.”

_Not long enough,_

The thought danced it's way across her brain before she could stop it. Panic settled across her chest, sending her head spinning and her heart aching as she struggled for breath.

_I should go._

“I should go.” Felicity spoke the words aloud, stepping backwards from Thomas' embrace, hurriedly pulling her jeans over her hips and her shirt over her head. “I've got... things to do,” she continued lamely. “A house, you know. People will be expecting me.”

Felicity saw the ire cloud Thomas features in an instant, before being replaced by a cruelly twisted and knowing smirk.

“Right. Well hurry on _home_ , then, Felicity. Best get back to it.” He kicked the door open, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb.

“Thanks for... I mean, I just wanted to say...” Felicity chewed on her lower lip, nervously looking at the floor. She could feel Thomas' eyes on her, could sense him studying her face, though she refused to meet his gaze. “Wish me luck?” She didn't wait for an answer, raising on tiptoe to press a quick kiss against his cheek before slinging her empty backpack over her shoulder and pushing past him, her brisk walk breaking to a jog as she fought to put as much distance between them as she could manage.

“It'll take a fat lot more than luck to cover those marks of mine!” Thomas' mocking tone sounded clearly from behind her as she strode away.

“Jesus Christ,” she swore under her breath, before turning on her heel to face him. She knew he'd see her as she shoved her shirt sleeves to her elbows, yanked the collar down to bare the bite on her shoulder. “Got no call to try, Thomas!” Felicity yelled at him, irritation and temper coloring her tone. She thought she saw for a fraction of an second, surprised amusement and maybe even pride flit across his features. She raised an eyebrow at him, biting back the grin that threatened to break across her face, before she turned away, taking great pleasure in the knowledge that this time, for the first time, he stood watching her go.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_It ain't a single shred of their business where I've been._

Felicity held her head high as she rounded the path, gravel giving way to pavement beneath her feet. Her thoughts had wheeled and turned the whole walk home, and she wasn't a bit closer to having herself sorted than she'd been hours before, standing in Thomas' arms.

_There will be plenty for those harpies to chatter on, when they see the mess he made of me..._

She traced her fingers reverently over the bites scattered across her collarbone. The braided wheals adorning her wrists were softened by the twilight lights spilling over her path, but they filled her with pride all the same.

“Oh, come off it girl” _._ Her scoff sounded too loud, brash and out of place on the quiet street.

_They can talk until they're blue in their nagging little faces. You asked for every bit of what he did to you. No use denying it now._

A small smile played on Felicity's lips, lingering a moment before blossoming into a full and foxlike grin. She'd more than asked for it. She relished the heavy flat of his hand against her backside, his firm grip on her hair. His unapologetic sense of self made her feel alive, exhilarated even. _Let them come then._ She tossed her hair over her shoulder, feeling the flush of pride creep over her skin. _I'll not hide from a single one of them._

Ready for battle, or at least an intensely prying conversation, Felicity glanced around the street. During the day it bustled with life, vibrant in its eccentricities, but at night, all she found where the shop windows shuttered up tight against the night air.

_They've not hid from a good story a day in their lives,_ she furrowed her brow in irritation. _Weren't expecting a one of them to start now._

_Old man Walsh's place,_ she thought sourly, passing the faded brick building, twinkle lights still shining from their places of honor around the dark green shutters. _I can hear him plain as you please, “You've gone done it now, missy. There's no faster road to hell than for those that trade away their virtue like they ain't got the sense they were born with. 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread', and you? You're the biggest fool of 'em all.”_

“Ain't as bad as all that, Peter.” Felicity snorted. “Not stupid, never been stupid. I know sure as I know my own name that a man has no business hitting his woman.”

_Not unless she likes it..._

The wind kicked up, blowing a frigid gust down the street, and Felicity picked up her pace, reflexively yanking her shirtsleeves down and pulling the garment tightly around her middle, huddling into herself for warmth.

_Colder than I realized,_ she shivered to herself, clenching her teeth in a futile attempt to stop them from chattering.

“ _Take a fat lot more than luck to cover up those marks of mine...”_

Thomas' voice sounded in her head, and as quickly as she'd covered herself, she wrenched her shirt open again to expose his handiwork, looking over her shoulder to make sure that nobody saw her as she toyed with her clothing.

_Ain't ashamed of ya, Jesus Christ, Thomas. Just runnin' cold, that's all._

“ _Where's the sense the good Lord gave you,”_ Felicity could imagine the scolding Joyce Mannion would give her, and she stopped in her tracks right in the middle of the street to glare at the stark cream walls and darkened windows of Mannion's Butcher. “ _Aye, not a girl alive'd blame you for taking up with that Tommy, over there up the hill. But truly child, best be a bit more discreet about it, don't you think? You can't go waltzing around here a marked woman and think any decent lad would give you the time of day. Keep your dallying in that man's bed between you and him, that the only way you'll have any chance at all at catching a man who actually can show his face 'round here.”_

And then there was the Widow Brennan. The Deacon had moved Ruthie into the Parish house at the end of the road after her husband James had passed, and she never let anyone forget it. “Thought we had it all, I did,” she'd say, a wistful smile crossing her lips as she recounted the story to anyone who would stop and listen. “Never had any children of our own, mind you, but James'd come home after a long day at the stables and give me a turn or two around the kitchen. Had a lovely tenor voice, that man, and I thought he'd sing me to sleep every night of my life. Didn't care who knew it, that he was the only one for me.”

“That sounds lovely,” Felicity had told her the first time she came 'round to pay Ruthie a quick visit, and ended up staying all afternoon. “Like you had a right happy time with him.”

“I was a fool.” Widow Brennan's gnarled finger jabbed in Felicity's direction. “Spent forty years of my life with that man, and what did it get me? He died on me in the middle of the night, without so much as a peep, and now I'm here livin' on the charity of folks who'd rather shovel shit for days than visit with me.”

Felicity pulled a piece of vine free from the wrought iron gate, tossing it to join its brethren in the overgrown garden.

_Maybe if you weren't so blasted unpleasant, folks would stay for more than a cup of tea, you ever think of that Ruthie?_

“ _Why do you think I'm this way, girl?”_ Felicity gnawed on her lower lip as she imagined the disapproval on the widow's face when she saw the tapestry of blemishes that Thomas had left behind. _“You let a man mark you like that, and one day, it'll be you sitting here, alone as can be with nothing but the memory of his marks to keep you company. And I'll tell you, they don't keep you warm at night at all, those memories.”_

She brushed some pebbles free from the crumbling moss-covered wall that signaled the end of the mercantile. _Well then._ She swept her gaze the length of the empty street with a sigh. _That's that, I suppose. Just one more stop._

“Sorry I've not been to see you for a bit, Rodeo,” Felicity crouched down to murmur into the tiny goat's russet ears. “You look plenty taken care of here, if I do say so myself.” He bleated gently in response, leaning his head into her touch. She had bought the goat on a whim, trading over two full week's work tending ponies at Connemara stables for the red and white animal. Kerwin and Seamus were kind enough to let him stay on the grounds, where he could amble over the sprawling lawn with aplomb, and if they minded her late night visits, they never said. Felicity stopped by to see him as often as she was able, and while he was always glad to see her, he managed just fine when she was gone.

“It's almost doesn't feel real...” she breathed, leaning her shoulder against the weather beaten fence pole. “I'm fair sure he'd be just fine if he never saw me again.” She pursed her lips in thought, closing her eyes as her gut twisted with longing, and she sniffed a small laugh at the animal's responding nicker. “No, you're right, Rodeo. I'd not be fine at all.”

The sensation of Thomas striking her as he took her ghosted through her. A contented smile played over her lips as she turned her face back toward the goat, who was happily munching on grass. “You'd think it'd hurt, you know, and it did... but Christ as my witness, nothing in this world ever felt so proper as the way that man laid me out.”

_Proper? What's proper about the way that man hauled you this way and that, snappin' at you like you'd lost your sense, talking to you like you'd throw yourself off a cliff if he'd set you to it. Your Mam and Pa'd die on the spot if they knew that this was you were up to._

“Well, that's just it, then. Not a blasted thing proper about it. But damned if I didn't feel free...”

She watched Rodeo play a few moments more, how he raised up on his hind legs to butt heads with an unsuspecting lamb who had wandered by, the way he jumped on the picnic table and bleated a victory chorus so enthusiastic, she was sure the whole street could hear his cries. When at long last she rose to her feet and headed for home, the moon was high in the sky, lighting her path.

Her feet dragged as she covered the last few steps to her apartment. The walk between Thomas' home and hers seemed longer than she remembered; her head was beginning to pound, and her muscles ached from the exertion. She was irritable and short tempered, brimming with unspent energy and restlessness. She flopped forward across her still-made bed, squirming and kicking until her boots clattered to the floor beneath her.

_Going to leave them there, are you?_

She could just imagine Thomas' sneer, and the way he'd stand leaning against her door frame, as if it were his God-given right to be in her home, commanding her with the same ease he did in his.

_Get up. Try not to act like the lazy slut we both know you are._

“Tis my home, not yours, Hiddleston,” she muttered under her breath. “I can do as I damn well please, and there ain't a single solitary thing you can do to stop me.”

_Then why is it, girl, that you ain't felt right since the second you left his side? You came here not because you didn't know what you wanted, but because you did. And if you stay here, you're naught but a stupid cow._

She buried her face beneath her pillow to drown out the sound of her taunting thoughts, and within moments, she slept.

The sun had been up for hours when Felicity woke the next morning. Her head was pounding behind her brow, the sunlight too bright, the sounds of friendly neighbors calling to each other much too loud. She padded to the kitchen and poured a glass of water straight from the faucet, downing it in one long gulp.

_Going to stand around here all day dilly-dallying, or you going to get to moving?_

“I move when I'm ready, and not a damn second sooner,” she grumbled, opening the cupboards restlessly before almost immediately slamming them shut.

“Thinks he can make the rules, does he?” She dropped the glass into the sink with a clatter before yanking a clean shirt over her head. Pulling a brush through her hair, Felicity worked quickly and angrily to remove the knots, before she gave up and twisted the whole mess into a bun. It was only another half a beat before she was out the door, pushing it closed with much more force than was necessary.

Walking down the street, she ignored the greetings and well-wishes, ignored the sweet and spicy smell of cinnamon buns wafting from the bakery, ignored Eileen's pleas to “stop and chat a spell.”

By the time she blew in through the weathered door of Vaughn's, her irritation was simmering beneath her skin, leaving her ill at ease and foul-tempered. “Cillian!” She strained to make her voice heard over the the sounds of fiddles and guitars, merrily singing away. “Where in the hell are you?”

“Here, lovely!” The response from behind the bar was swift and cheerful. “What can I do you for?”

“Bit early in the day for this kind of racket, isn't it?” She nodded her head toward the merry quintet on stage, stomping away with abandon.

“T'aint never too early for a good time, little lady.” Cillian's eyes twinkled merrily as he clapped her on the shoulder, paying no heed her narrowed eyes and folded arms. “I'm glad you're here, sour though you may be, been wanting to talk to you a bit.”

_Here we go,_ Felicity tightened her arms over her chest, holding her chin high. _I'm ready for you, Cillian Vaughn. Ask away, you'll not get one word from me, no sir._

“I ain't seen you around much, so I don't know if you heard, the town's been talking about the new couple that's been settlin' in.” He gestured for her to take a seat at the corner of the bar, tossing a bag of Bacon fries toward her. “Open these and eat a few, would ya? Don't know when you last ate, but I reckon it didn't agree with you much, you're green as I've ever seen you.”

“Have they?” Felicity pulled a fry from the bag, rolling it over between her fingers as she waited for Cillian to continue. “Not a solitary one of 'em can keep their mouth shut to save their own skin, that's for certain.”

“You know little Finley Walsh, from over Church Hill?”

A few beats of silence passed while Felicity tried to follow his train of thought, the fuzziness of her head and the pounding behind her temple making it increasingly difficult. “Yeah... what about her?”

“She's taken up with Taggart McGrath, from round the Low Road.” Cillian nodded to emphasize his point. “Her Pa's furious, came down the street shoutin' all sorts of threats at them. Was quite a show.”

She crushed the snack between her fingers, letting the dust fall to the countertop. “You don't say.”

“And Reverend Evanston found five hundred euro slipped his books when he counted 'em last.”

He raised his eyebrows as Felicity reached behind the bar and opened a beer, throwing her head back to let the dark amber liquid burn down her throat.

“And he won't say naught about who pocketed it, but I'll tell you something between you and me, love, that old Piran Kane came in here buying up a round of drinks for everyone, and I can't tell you how many times I've had to chase after that old goat to pay up his own tab at the end of the month, forget about anyone else's.”

“Christ Almighty, Cillian,” she swallowed the bile that threatened to rise from her stomach. “You're gossiping as endless and true as all the rest of them.”

“It's the face, sweet. People tell me things. Been trustworthy as can be since the day I came into the world, can't help it, wouldn't even if I could.”

“I'm sure,” she muttered, twisting in her seat to look around the room. Some people were casting glances her way every now and again, but most were steadfastly refusing to look in her direction. She couldn't say which she preferred.

_You can sit here all blasted day if you please, and you know well and true you won't find what you're after._

Felicity sourly pursed her lips, struggling to contain the petulant ire threatening to break forth.

_Can't even admit it to yourself, can you, foolish girl?_

She took a deep breath, flushing fiercely as one pair of eyes after another scanned the marks on her collarbone.

_If you're looking for absolution from this lot, then you don't deserve to be anywhere near Thomas. He's told you as much. And it's worth remembering this he may enjoy taking a tumble with you, but he ain't going to exactly welcome you with open arms every time you come calling._

Her stomach lurched, nerves and trepidation coloring her thoughts, though her intentions had been decided long ago. If she were being honest, they'd been decided since the day she'd lay at his feet, clinging to the earth after he'd pulled her from the rocky precipice.

_Only one way to find out..._

“What about you, then?” She was vaguely aware that Cillian was still speaking. “Have you got something to tell me as well?”

Felicity narrowed her eyes as she took a big swig from the bottle, before setting it back atop the bar, pausing to trace a bead of sweat down the brown glass with her fingertip. “Know what, Cilli? I changed my mind. I ain't got naught to tell you. Don't think I'd tell the Lord himself at this point.”

“You sure, love? Got plenty of time to talk to ya.”

“That's plenty clear,” she muttered, downing the rest of her beer, relishing the burn that settled in her stomach. “My head's beatin' on me something fierce. Best get going out of here afore I hurl all over this pretty little party of yours.”

“You must be in a hurry to get on home, then.” Cillian's brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “I know if I looked half as wrecked as you, I'd not show my face around this town either.”

“Now you listen up, Cillian Vaughn,” she seethed, slamming her palm down on the bar. “I go where I want, and when I want. I've not answered to anyone for years, and I'm damned sure not about to start with you!”

He seemed unperturbed by her outburst, eyeing her carefully before reaching behind the bar to snag an apple and toss it her way. “Take this with you, love. 'Tis a long walk you've ahead of you, and you just ain't looking like yourself, if I do say so.”

“ _Don't_ say so.”

“I'll see you soon then, love.” He reached across the bar to smooth a twisted tendril of hair behind her ear, chucking her on the chin as she rose unsteadily to her feet. “Take care of yourself, will you?

“Always do!” she called over her shoulder.

She rushed out of town, hastily moving over the gravel road, not even allowing herself to stop and think until her feet hit the spongy moss-colored grass that signaled Clifden was behind her at last.

_He thinks he can do as he pleases, demand as he pleases, and for what?_ Felicity chewed on her lower lip, feeling her irritation and anger crest within her as she tried to ignore the leaden feeling that had settled in her legs.

_And who the hell does he think he is anyway, insisting I share my business with anyone who gives me so much as a how d'you do?_

She kicked morosely at a clod of dirt, scowling at the streak of mud it left on her boot.

_He didn't insist on shit, girl. You don't want to play by his rules? You just don't come back. You don't get to walk into a bear's house and demand he change the furniture._ She caught herself nodding in agreement with her own assertion as she trod forward, before she furrowed her brow in confusion, struggling to make sense of her own thoughts.

_That didn't even make any sense. Maybe Cillian was right about you not doing so well... t'would be much wiser to go on home._ She wavered for a moment, wobbling on her feet, half ready to turn around and head home before Thomas' cottage came into view.

_I'll catch him by surprise,_ she reasoned with ill-assured certainty. _He won't be able to slam the door on me if he doesn't see me coming._

Closing her eyes, Felicity sucked a deep breath of air into her lungs and wrenched the door toward her before striding haughtily inside.

Thomas emerged from the bathroom, fresh from a bath, rifling a green terrycloth towel through his hair. Water droplets splattered the floor, puddling beneath his feet as he stood frozen in place.

“There's this moment, you know?” She jabbed her finger in his direction, plopping down at his kitchen table and stroking her fingers across the carefully carved wood. She delighted in the surprise that flitted across his features before his typical mixture of disdain and stoicism took hold. “This moment right when the sun comes up, a'fore your feet have hit the ground for one bleeding second, where you can be anything at all that you please. You can climb Carrauntoohil if you've a desire to break your neck. Can throw a hat 'top your head and do a jig if it suits you.” Narrowing her gaze, she stumbled to her feet again, planting a saucy hand on her hip. “And don't you think, Thomas Hiddleston, for one single blasted minute that I'm going to spend my life minding my 'pleases' and 'what fors' just because you've got a bug up your arse to set me in line.”

“No one asked you to mind a damn thing, you witless girl.” Thomas tossed his towel across the foot of his bed as he closed the distance between them with measured steps, water droplets still beading across his chest. Felicity tilted her head on her neck, glowering up at him as he inhaled deeply, his nose crinkling a bit. “You're fucked off your head, you are. That might make _you_ muzzy, sorry little stray. But me, I been clear as a bell since you traipsed your trespassing arse all over this place. All I've ever wanted of you is for you to get yourself gone and stay that way.”

“Oh, that's a bloody crock, and you know it, well as I.” Felicity felt the color staining her cheeks, as she struggled to ignore her rising headache. “I've not had a single drop. But even if I have, I daresay _you_ haven’t _._ So what’s your bloody excuse? _You_ stomp about here like you're lord and master of all that's ever set foot in front of you, and the rest of us peasants should just be falling over grateful that you've spoken to us at all. That right there is what's fucked if you ask me.”

“Nobody is asking you a damned thing, little liar. This is my land. My house. Ain't no one the master of my fate but me. And I'll tell you, Felicity Dolan, if you think for one second you can come squalling in here because I dipped my wick in you once or twice, then you're further gone than even I took you for.”

Felicity sputtered in anger, incredulity rendering her speechless. She took a step toward him, hands clenched tightly in fists, her whole body trembling. Their stare down lingered in a long battle of wills, her glare hot and furious, his glower carefully cultivated amusement. It was the sudden smugness of his expression that did her in, and with a roar of fury, she turned from him, yanking his door open. She swayed on unsteady legs, leaning heavily against the door frame, the pounding in her head and the churning of her stomach no longer possible to ignore

“Christ Almighty girl, you've lost your sense, and now you've lost the ability to stay on your feet too, have you?” Thomas reached for Felicity, roughly pushing her upright. “Oh, for fuck's sake, you're burning up, you stupid, stubborn little wretch.” He swept his hand angrily through his hair, rifling it with irritation. “What business have you dragging yourself up here, sick as can be, and making yourself a nuisance?”

Felicity wriggled from his hold and moved to grasp the back of the chair for support as she swept her red-rimmed eyes up to meet his. “Maybe if you didn't live halfway 'cross Hell's half-acre,” she spat through clenched teeth, “then a lady'd stand a decent chance at stopping by without catching cold.”

“Fancy yourself a lady, do you?” Thomas scoffed under his breath, as he strode across his room, stopping at his bed to yank the linens back. “Not a single ladylike thing about what you did the last time you laid in this bed.”

“And you ain't got a chance in hell of getting me back there, so I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, I don't know about all that,” his voice was deceptively soft as he padded in her direction. “I think I've a way or two to get you on your knees again.” He gently lifted a damp strand of her fiery mane, separating it from where it lay plastered against her neck.

She slapped irritably at his hands. “I think I was plenty clear when I told you I didn't want you to lay a finger on me, ever again.”

“Actually,” Thomas pursed his lips, biting back the smile that threatened to form. “I'm fair certain you asked for more than my fingers, more'n once.”

With two hands, Felicity shoved against him, putting all of her remaining strength into the blow. “You're a sick sod, if you think you can get yours off just because you've a yearnin' to 'dip your wick' again.” Angry tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. “And I'll tell you another thing...”

Thomas didn't let her finish, instead lifting her into his arms and flinging her over his shoulder. “You're sturdier than you look,” he grunted, shifting her weight.

“Put me down, before I-”

Felicity's shriek was cut off by Thomas' sharp slap to her ass. “Before you what? Talk me to death? Shut your trap then, if you know what's good for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, girl,” he grumbled under his breath, yanking her boots from her feet and tossing them noisily to the floor. “Can't even let someone do a dammed thing for you without making the whole thing bloody difficult.” He popped the button on her jeans free, before sliding the denim down her legs and letting the pants crumple to the ground beneath her. “Had my day all planned out, and not a shred of those plans had me looking after your hide as part of 'em.”

“Thomas...” Felicity's voice came meekly from under the covers.

He trailed into the bathroom, grabbing his shirt and jeans from where they lay slung across the sink. “But no, you never do think a shred about anyone, not even your own self.” He pulled his jeans over his hips, tucking his still-flaccid cock inside his fly. “Come slogging up here, sick as sin. If I turned you out, you'd go tumbling into the ocean sure as I know my own name.”

Again came the sound of her voice, quieter still. “Thomas?”

He sat down at the kitchen table with a thump, shoving his feet into his boots, yanking on the laces so roughly they nearly snapped in two. “And I can tell you this right now, Felicity Dolan, I sure as shit didn't come here hoping for straggling little sluts to come sniffing 'round like I owed 'em something.”

“Thomas!”

“What?” he snarled, whirling on her, blue eyes glacial with fury. “What the blazes do you want now?”

Her tone was uncharacteristically timid and quiet, her eyes glassed over, and skin nearly bright enough to match her hair. “Where are you going?”

The only response she received was an ill-concealed snort, and the sound of the slamming door.

Felicity drifted then, turning restlessly beneath the quilts atop Thomas' bed. While she slept, she dreamed, great swaths of greens and brown, angry red stripes soothed by waves of ocean blue. She screwed her eyelids shut against the sun moving in the sky, breaking through the clouds to pour through the window next to her. She flung her forearm over her eyes, dimly realizing she should rise to close the shutters, but as soon as the thought crystallized in her mind, the light was gone again, replaced the brilliant oranges and rosy pinks of the sun setting beneath the hills. The blankets were twisted around her feet in an angry knot, the result of her endless tossing and turning. She propped herself unsteadily on one elbow, struggling to sit upright beneath the assault pounding behind her brow.

“You step one foot on that floor, and it may well be the last step you take.” Thomas' voice growled at her from the kitchen.

Felicity wiped her hand across her fevered skin, wincing at the sounds clattering from the stove. The savory smells of chicken and onions wafted toward her, the aroma of freshly baked bread followed not far behind. “I'll do that for you, if you give me half a minute,” she grumbled. “What the hell are you playing at, anyhow? Where'd you get all that?”

“Ain't but a few hour's walk to Blake's place. Fat lot less trouble than hauling you all the way home.”

“You went into town for me?” Though her voice was hoarse and strained, her tone was insistent, clearly expecting explanation.

He cocked his head toward the beside table, shifting Felicity's attention toward the crumpled brown paper bag tossed beside a coffee mug which teetered haphazardly close to the edge. “Just take your goddamn medicine and shut up about it.”

She shakily pulled the blue box of Paracetamol from the bag, squinting in concentration as she attempted to free the small white pills from the plastic. She palmed them for a moment, willing the spinning of the room to slow, before she popped them in her mouth, chasing them down her throat with a large swill from the worn and crackled mug.

Spitting and sputtering, the liquid flew from her lips, splattering across the floor. “What the ever-loving fuck, Thomas?” Felicity peered inside the cup for a split second, before he crossed the room, snatching the mug from her hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” he thundered. “Make a habit of wasting the good stuff, do you?”

She coughed, the rattle in her chest unyielding. “I thought it was something that made some goddamn sense...” she forced out between hacking spasms. “You know, a glass of water..”

“Teach you to drink before you look then, won't it?”

Thomas downed the rest of the whiskey before returning to the kitchen, assembling a large bowl of chicken noodle soup and tossing a hunk of bread on a tray before carrying it back to her. “Go on, girl. Eat up. And if you spill it, I'll make certain you regret it.”

She squirmed upright on the bed, gratefully accepting the food Thomas proffered. As soon as he was certain the tray wouldn't upend on his bed, he left her side again, heading toward the table. “I don't know what to say...” she called to his retreating back. “Thank you...” She lifted the bowl to her lips, taking a long sip from the steaming broth.

“I don't give two fat fucks how sick you are, if you think you're about to get away without eating that proper, I'll pour the whole mess down your throat.” Thomas didn't look at her as he spoke, not even turning around from his seat at the table, but she picked up her spoon anyway to take a hearty bite.

“This thing you did... taking care of me like this...” Felicity spoke carefully to fill the silence. “I didn't come here for it...”

Thomas didn't reply.

“What I mean is, I had no idea I was so bad off.” She dunked a small piece of bread in the broth, sopping up some liquid.

The quiet extended, hanging over her like wet wool, stiff and stifling.

The combination of the food and medicine soon left her sleepy, and she laid back on the pillows, struggling to keep her eyes open. She exhaled a soft sigh, and Thomas reappeared, removing the tray from her lap and setting it to rest on the nightstand.

She was already half asleep by the time she felt the quilt cover her body, and by the time Thomas slid into bed beside her, she wasn't sure she was awake at all.

_It's his bed, where else would he be?_

She slipped in and out of consciousness, trapped between awake and asleep, aware and drifting. His muttered curses dragged her closer, his hand passing over her brow quieted her restlessness.

_Was that him? Did I dream it?_

“Bleeding Christ, stop all that tossing about, Felicity.” Thomas' voice broke through her fevered dreams-annoyed, yes, but steady and sure. “It's bad enough that you're a blasted furnace over there, if you can't stay still, I'll throw you to the floor myself.”

_Oh, Thomas..._

She settled back against him, the swaths of red twisting across her vision finally fading into black, and at long last, calm descended on her and she slept.


	8. Chapter 8

_If he expects me to lay in this bed for all eternity just because I ran a little hot once or twice..._

Felicity grumbled to herself as she tossed and turned listlessly in the early evening light.

_Fine, t'was three days. I'm fit as a fiddle, and there's so much more fun to be had in a bed than this..._

“Thomas...” she spoke to his back, listening to the sounds of his chewing. “I was thinking maybe... ths evening we might...” Her cheeks burned furiously as she sought for words. “Was hoping you had something I could do for you.”

He took a noisy swig from his mug before thumping it down on the table. “You eat yet?”

She picked at a stray pill on the quilt top. “No,” she muttered sullenly. “I've been telling you, I'm not hungry.”

“That well may be, little stray, but until you find a way to convince me you'll not fall on your arse trying to haul your sorry self home, you'll stay right where you are.”

“I wasn't asking to get out of bed,” she protested weakly. “I just thought that we could find a better way to spend our time, seeing as you're holding me hostage.”

“Hostage implies some sort of gain.” Thomas rose from the table, his brow creasing in annoyance as he removed her untouched bowl of broth from the bedside. “I'm the hostage, plenty more than you, forced to extend my hearth and home when it's not doing me a single shred of good.”

_Got me in your bed already, you sorry old git, and you're telling me you ain't got a single itch to fuck me proper. I ain't so far gone that I've not noticed that cock of yours poppin' up to say “how ya do” when you tuck in for the night. There's plenty of ways to get me gone if that was what you were really after._

_And I can wait for it, same as you._

She folded her arms tightly across her chest, furrowing her brow in defiance. “There's not a single thing you've got hidden away in this house that I'm afraid of, Thomas, so just come off it already.”

He eyed her speculatively, his mouth slightly upturned at the corner. “You seem to have plenty of energy to run your mouth, that's for certain. If you're that sorry for something to do, why don't you earn your keep around here? The house has been plenty fallin' apart while you've been idling away in my bed from noon 'til night.”

Felicity's mouth dropped open as he crawled into bed beside her. “You mean to say you'd rather set me a list of chores, afore anything else?”

“I'd rather you shut your yap, is what I'd rather.” Thomas rolled his eyes before turning away from her, presenting her once again with his broad back, and shortly after, the sound of his snoring.

_I'll show him, yes I will._

Careful not to touch the sleeping man next to her, Felicity shifted and settled, holding her body rigid on the edge of the bed.

_All high and mighty now, ain't he, playin' like I'm some lazy good for nothing. But I can behave just fine, I can._

Her lips curled in a devilish grin.

_And where would he be then?_

Mentally pacing the house, she set her mind to sorting through the possible chores he could expect of her.

_Do the washing, mind the barrels, tidy the mess you've wrought. And for God's sake girl, if you know what's good for you, hold your tongue._

She felt a curious thrill of pride and excitement, imagining his pleasure when she fell into step.

_You'd be happy with that, would you, girl? And what if he flips it on you, as he's so wont to do? What if at the end of it all he sits, fat happy lord of a spick and span manor_ , _and he still won't lay a hand on you? T'would it be worth it then?_

She chewed her lip briefly as the last of the light dimmed to darkness beyond the shuttered window.

_Aye._

The sun was just peeking over the rolling green cliffs when Felicity rose, sliding gently out of bed as she cast a glance at the still-sleeping Thomas beside her. Wobbling a bit on her feet, she reached out to grasp the headboard, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. Her head swam uncomfortably for a few moments more before her vision cleared. Padding her way across the floor to the bathroom, she dipped a towel into the bucket of now-frigid water, scrubbing her face raw before dropping the tattered green terrycloth to the floor. Her nimble fingers braided her tangled hair, securing the heavy end with an elastic, and she stepped into an old pair of shorts and a well-worn shirt, both of which hung a little too loosely on her to ignore. Her stomach grumbled insistently as she worked and she peeked over her shoulder toward the kitchen with longing.

_You should have eaten it when he offered it to you, you stupid girl,_ she chided herself. _If you wake him up to ask after breakfast, he'll be on your arse before you know it._

She started with the laundry, collecting the towels and clothes strewn around the floor. She'd just finished the washing and was setting all out to dry when Thomas banged through the front door of the house. He paused at his doorstep, mouth hanging open as she stretched to clip one of his shirts to the line high above her head. He watched her chew absentmindedly on her lower lip, admiring every muscle and sinew that rippled through her when she stretched.

“Good morning, Thomas!” She smiled sweetly at him, her emerald eyes twinkling with good humor. “Sleep well?”

He eyed her speculatively for a moment before turning from her with a grunt, setting to the task of selecting wood for his next batch of cordage. But his eyes continued to flick to her form as she moved with ease around the property, observing her activity with hostile, almost resentful curiosity; the way she tugged the clothes straight on the line as she crossed to put the basket away, the way she re-stacked the wood he'd cast off, the way she she crawled on hands and knees through his garden, pulling weeds and aerating the soil. Stifling a surge of amusement, he watched her ignore the dirt smeared across her forehead and thighs, humming softly to herself as she reset the large, flat stones that had slid from the perimeter in the last heavy rain.

“Keep it quiet,” he grumbled in her direction. “I've work to do, and none of it involves listening to you go on and on.”

“Sorry, sir!” she called agreeably, flipping her heavy braid over her shoulder. “I'll leave you to it, then.”

She was still sweaty and dirty when she moved to rub down the bellies of the water barrels, ensuring that no leaks would form. Thomas could easily see the grass stains on her knees as she carried the wood he'd cut the day before from sunny spot to sunny spot to maximize its drying time. He irritably set to work stripping bark from his pile with harsh, angry motions, when the splash of water buckets he used to carry indoors turned his head once more. He opened his mouth to snap at her, to remind her that any dirt she tracked into his house would be another mess for her to clean.

The words died on his lips at the sight of her stepping out of her boots and socks, stripping away her t-shirt, shorts, bra and panties. Grabbing a still-damp towel from the line, Felicity held it under the spigot of one water barrel and soaked it through, biting back the tiny shriek of shock from the icy cold. And as she scrubbed the mud and muck from her creamy, freckled skin, Thomas wasn't sure which made him angrier; the idea that she was sponging her body clean in the early afternoon sun to tempt him, or the idea that she was oblivious to his presence entirely.

Without so much as a single glance in his direction, she carried the water buckets inside. He stared at the pile of her dirty clothes, the used wash towel, fuming, but before he'd even had a chance to bellow her name, she reappeared, a fresh flannel shirt tied around her waist, above cuffed denim hiking shorts. She made quick work of the tiny laundry pile, washing it and setting it to dry at the far end of the line.

He clenched his jaw as she disappeared back into the house, focusing all of his frustration on the helpless branch resting half-barked between his knees. He stayed outside working until well after the sun had dipped below the horizon, scowling at her back when she fetched the clothes from the line and when she carried a burning lantern to rest on the stump beside him. It was only the heavenly scent drifting from the open shutters that finally drew him inside at last.

His home was immaculately clean, the bed made, the sundries organized on the counter, the table set- two plates, two glasses, one set of silverware. Pots bubbled, pans sizzled. Steam was rising from the bucket placed beside the gleaming tub. Felicity flashed him a gentle smile as she stood at his counter slicing strawberries, and the urge he had to cross the floor, wind her thick braid around his fist and force her to her knees was nearly as overwhelming as it was infuriating.

With an angry huff, Thomas kicked off his boots, leaving a trail of discarded clothing across the floor as he crossed to the tub to wash. Muttering under his breath, he scrubbed his scalp with his fingernails, scraped his skin with a washcloth, epithets flowing as freely as the suds and water he flicked across the gleaming copper and the just-cleaned wooden floor. After drying himself with hasty, impatient swipes, he dropped the towel to his feet without a second thought before angrily pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and a soft Kelly green t-shirt. He pulled the watch from his wrist, winding it in his nightly ritual before placing it on his bedside table.

Finally, he turned to face her, and saw her plating the fish she'd broiled, the vegetables she'd steamed, the potatoes she'd roasted. His clothing had been placed in the basket near the tub which was again clean and dry, as was the floor around it. His boots sat toes against the wall near the front door. The scrape of his chair drew his attention as she pulled it out for him, then she turned quickly and placed the cooking dishes into the washbasin.

He crossed the floor with a thunderous haughty stride, grabbing her by her hair. Her rubber band snapped free from her braid, sending her hair twisting in soft waves down her back as his other hand landed on her ass in a grip that was deliciously painful. Felicity moaned softly into the violence of the kiss, her body limp and supple in his embrace. Then, just as quickly as he'd taken her, he released her, flicking his wrist at her place setting before taking his seat.

“Grab yourself a knife and fork, you simple little slut. Got no need to share my table with an unrefined savage.”

She lowered her lashes obediently, but Thomas didn't miss the way she pressed her lips into a razor thin white line. His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, pinching with his thumb and forefinger to hold her head steady.

“Something to say, love?”

Her dark green eyes flashed fury up at him, and he could all but see the sass bubbling up from her throat.

_One, two, three._

Felicity swallowed with a mighty effort. “Thank you very much, Thomas. Get to eatin' while it's hot, I'll get my silverware and join you.”

He gifted her with the briefest flash of a proud smile before taking his seat once again.

They ate in an almost comfortable silence, the delicious meal quickly disappearing from their plates. Spearing her last potato with her fork, Felicity popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she watched him dine, waiting to clear when he'd finished eating. When he pushed up from the table, she rose to her feet, only to have him slide his chair back and move behind her. She could feel the broad planes of his chest against her back, his cock swollen hot and hard against the cleft of her ass as one strong arm wound around her waist and pulled her snug against his body. He was uncharacteristically gentle as he swept her hair from where it spilled across her shoulder, baring the nape of her neck to his mouth.

“Leave them,” he commanded softly, a deep gravelly growl creeping into his voice.

She closed her eyes, and sucked air sharply through her nose, willing herself to stay upright in the midst of his sudden, sensual onslaught.

“Yes, sir,” she moaned tremulously, as his teeth sunk into her flesh.

She settled back against him, tilting her head to extend her neck; when he released her, the sudden absence of his solidity and heat made her sway ever so slightly on her bare feet. He crossed the room at a measured pace, moving to stretch languidly on the bed. Thomas slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his sweats to grip his cock, pumping lazily as he watched her beneath hooded eyes.

“Show me my canvas for the evening, pet.”

Felicity toed her way across the floor, stopping near the foot of the bed. One by one, she slipped the buttons on her shirt free from their holes, the faded flannel slipping to reveal her bare shoulder. Thomas let a small hiss escape through his teeth as he tightened his grip, circling the crown with his thumb. Her shirt fell to the floor beneath her feet with a soft thump and she didn't shy from his heated gaze as she flipped the button on her shorts, pulling the plackets aside to reveal nothing underneath but wiry red curls.

Thomas exhaled an almost affectionate chuckle, the corners of his lips turning up in a small smile. “Naughty little whore.”

She felt a surge of pride swell through her, delight staining her cheeks as she let the denim fall to the ground before stepping carefully out of it. He licked his lips as he watched her, allowing her to stand naked for a long moment, trembling with anticipation.

“Bet you think you've got plenty to be proud of today...”

_Don't care about proud,_ the thought drifted through her mind. _Just did what felt right..._

After what seemed an eternity, he ticked his chin toward the trunk at the foot of the bed.

“Well, go on then,” his voice was dark with suggestive promise. “Time for the reward you've worked your pretty little arse for...”

Felicity chewed gently on the inside of her cheek before dropping to a kneel to open the heavy wooden lid with reverence. With shaking hands, she removed several fat coils of rope, arranging them on the foot of the bed. Her eyes, full of question swept up to meet his.

_Wait, girl,_ she cautioned herself. _Won't anything happen that he doesn't ask for, and you've got to hold your patience for it first._

She willed herself to hold his gaze as his hand moved slowly back and forth, pearly liquid leaking from the tip of his cock. Finally, he gave an infinitesimal nod, and she closed her eyes as her fingers curled around the distinctly phallic-shaped handle of the flogger.

Thomas rose easily from the bed, closing the distance between them in slow, measured strides. She sucked in deep lungfuls of air to steady herself as he approached before dropping her eyes to the floor in silent deference. He stopped in front of her, close enough for her to feel the heat from his breath against her skin and extended his hand to her, palm up. Without hesitation, Felicity laid the flogger gently in it, watching his fingers curl around the wooden handle before moving her hands immediately to grip at the small of her back.

He brought his free hand to her chin, raising her face so that her eyes met his, and he held her gaze for a long moment, watching her cheeks pink beneath his careful scrutiny, her small and even teeth chewing absently on her lower lip. Then, with slow deliberation, he adjusted his grip on the flogger, moving it between her legs.

Her eyes blew wide in shock as he nudged it against her lips, using it to tease her slick and swelling folds. He pressed the rounded tip firmly against the entrance to her pussy, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly as her hips rolled into the contact. Felicity blanched as she bit back a tiny mewl of dismay, planting her feet against the floor in an effort to keep still.

 “Poor little pet,” he cooed, lifting the flogger to her face so she could see the handle glistening in the candlelight. “So deliciously horny. So wet and wanton as you stand before me.” He raised his chin a notch. “Open.”

 Her mouth fell obediently open and his hand slid around to the back of her head as he slid the shaft between her lips. “Clean your wet little cunt from my toy, girl.” He held her fast, thrusting the flogger toward her throat as she sucked, twisting the handle while she swirled her tongue around the wood. “Do a very good job for me, and I'll let you feel its sting as well.”

 She moaned around the sculpted wood, and Thomas allowed a shudder of delight to pass through him as her tongue lapped hungrily at it's curve. “Sinful little slut,” he growled as he gripped her hair, yanking her head back to a painful bend. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against her ear. “So willing and eager to please...” He bit down on her earlobe until she squealed with pained delight, tears spring to the corners of her eyes.

 “Christ on his cross, Felicity,” he breathed. “You are so beautiful when you're broken.” He caught the single tear that slipped down her cheek with his tongue before dusting a chaste kiss against her temple. “Final task, love. Present yourself properly for me, and you'll get what you're after.”

 He released her carefully, collecting the rope from the foot of the bed as she climbed upon it, limbs shaking. His cock jerked inside his sweats when she knelt in the center and stretched her arms toward the bedposts, pressing her forehead against the cool linens. She raised herself up onto her knees, the luscious target of her ass on perfect presentation as she spread her legs wide. Her excitement was just beginning to drip down her folds, which were already swollen and flushed a deep rosy red. Grinning wolfishly, he dipped one finger between them, savoring their slick heat, their tight wet grasp around him.

 “Lovely,” he murmured, sucking her juices from his skin before draping the tails of the flogger over the creamy skin at the small of her back. “So deliciously desperate for my ropes around you...” He brought one palm down sharply against the inviting curves of her ass, the crack echoing into the dark through the open shutters, her blood rushing to warm her skin in the perfect shape of his hand as she yipped in surprise.

 “Beg.”

 Felicity pressed her face firmly into the linens, biting her lip until bright copper flooded her tongue from the break in her tender flesh. Her mind battled behind closed eyes as her caustic nature battled with a deep-seated need that she didn't quite understand.

  _Ain't gonna get you nowhere, girl, to go running your mouth off to him now. You're stretched out ready for him to crucify you with that cock of his, what's asking for it pretty gonna hurt you?_

 She tongued the split in her lip, breathing Thomas' oaky scent from the sheets beneath her.

  _Been runnin' around here ragged all day to keep him happy, isn't that enough? He's gotta hear me beg for it too? Cleanin' and cookin' and muckin' through the dirt like his own personal scullery... and it ain't like I grumped or grouched my way through the day, fucking endless as it was. I minded my mouth, kept my hands to myself, and wouldn't he be the fat cat in the cream if he knew_ that _were the the part came hardest of all._

 The events of the afternoon replayed themselves briefly behind her closed lids- the way his throaty grunts as he whittled away at the wood vibrated through her belly, the way the chill of the breeze on the back of her neck made her long for the heat of his hands or his mouth, the way the scent of him drifted from the linens and the laundry- filling her mind with memories of his warm skin and sharp teeth and his fierce, biting blows, and her gut with a raw aching need to feel them once more.

  _And I'll be damned if I'm going to lose all that because I can't hold my tongue when I ought._

 She drew in a deep breath, tampering down the noisy and prideful part of her mind, reaching for the words he wanted to hear from her, the words he needed her to mean.

 “Please Thomas... Sir. Bind me. Please?”

 Her voice was tiny and timid, but rang true with sincerity and trust; it could have done him in if he'd allowed. Thankful that she could not see his face, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw swallowing roughly, her pleading washing over him like a sweet summer rain.

 “Please, Thomas,” she sobbed, unashamed. “Tie me to your bed. Bind me down, however you wish. Just... please? I need to feel it...”

 “Well,” he mused as he clasped one of her wrists in his hands, winding rope tightly around it. “After you've begged so nicely...”

 She felt the persistent pressure of his fingers around the strong yet delicate bone beneath her skin, pressing it back and forth. He worked with quiet deliberation, binding her carefully, leaving no slack for her to move out from beneath him. His hands moved over her body, binding her knees to rings attached securely to the bedframe, ensuring her legs would remain spread wide beneath his onslaught. Finally, he wound the rough-hewn rope around her ankles, ensuring that she could not wriggle away nor gain any leverage against him.

 “Fucking exquisite,” he breathed, trailing one finger down the curve of her spine. “A reward is what you're after, is it, pet?”

 She nodded against the mattress, choking back the nervous sobs which threatened to break free. “Yes, Thomas. Sir... please?”

 He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up, forcing her body into a taut arch.

 “Get your fucking head up and beg so I can hear you,” he hissed into her ear.

 Felicity swallowed roughly, her voice choked in her throat with effort.

 “Oh, little whore,” Thomas mocked, reaching one hand around to tweak at one rosy, swollen nipple. “And you've been doing so well. I'd not disappoint me now, if I were you...”

 “Thomas, please!” she cried out desperately. “Hurt me, mark me, make me yours. Please, Sir, please! Whatever you want, spank me, flog me, break me, if that's your pleasure. Just please...”

 Her begging was cut off abruptly by his mouth crashing down on hers, the split on her lip that had only just stopped bleeding breaking open again, the taste of her blood mingling on their tangled tongues. Her head was swimming with the pleasure of it when he all too soon pulled away, his stare burning through her with an unapologetic, feral glow.

 “Oh, little slut,” he grinned down at her, raising her chin to bring her eyes to his. “Give me everything.”

 Felicity nodded in frantic consent, fingers grasping for purchase and scrabbling against empty air.

 “Everything!”

 Thomas' flogger danced over her skin again and again; dull, heavy pressure was punctuated with several sharp, brisk snaps. All across her back, from just below her neck to the base of her spine, her skin flushed a deep pink, occasional wheals of angry red appearing beneath his tails. The strokes that fell across her ass came harder, leaving welts that would easily last a day or two. A heartbeat more and he gifted her with matching marks across the backs of her thighs.

  _Christ, Thomas..._

 Felicity gasped a deep breath of air as Thomas moved to kneel on the bed behind her. Three perfectly pressured, exquisitely timed swats met the dripping folds of her cunt in brisk, biting licks.

  _Don't ever stop._

 She clawed at the sheets, her body quaking from head to toe. Beads of perspiration gathered on her skin, sliding over her flesh as the sweet, musky scent of her arousal filled the air. Unable to wait any longer, Thomas shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs and sank into her, one brutal, punishing thrust. His head was thrown back on his neck as he allowed himself to bask in her agonized shrieks of pleasure, the tightness of her walls gripping him deeper and deeper.

 “Thomas!” His name hiccuped from her throat again and again; he grabbed her hair, strands popping free from their roots to shove her head to the side so that he could hear every whimper, every moan, every squeal. He leaned against her, his chest pressed into her back as he let the perspiration from her skin soak through the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

 “Exceptional, you little whore,” he gruffed into her neck. “It may be that you're worth teaching after all..”

 His hands cupped her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples to hard peaks until he felt the responding twinge and clench in the slick tight muscles holding him inside her. Pumping his hips with an almost vicious precision, he bit down on his favorite spot on her shoulder, laving the bloody teeth marks with his tongue.

 “If you fucking come pet, even one heartbeat before I give my say so...” he chuckled wickedly against her skin. “You'll wear my marks on your ass long after I've sent you home, and there will be no coming back...”

 She nodded frantically, gasping for air as he pummeled into her the heavy sac between his legs slapping against her clit with each thrust. “Yes, Thomas,” she rasped to the stars exploding before her eyes. “I understand... I understand... I'm trying, Sir. Oh God, I'm trying...”

 A surge of lustful pride and appreciation filled his belly, and Thomas snarled, ripping his shirt over his head as if to rend the feeling from his body with it. He gripped her hips painfully, making certain the fingertip shaped bruises he was sure to leave on her flesh would be decorated by darker half moon crescents from his nails. Rolling harder and faster, he tormented her cervix and g-spot in equal measure, delighting in the sight of her surrender beneath him.

 “Oh, fucking Christ,” Thomas spat through clenched teeth. “Come for me, shameless little slut. Come all over my cock. Now!”

 Felicity screamed in gratitude as her cunt clamped down around him, her entire body one taut and dripping circuit of electricity. His hands clenched into fists as he bucked against her, thrusting hard to wring every last drop of satisfaction from her before pulling free, his cock hanging swollen and flushed angry red between his legs. He moved to the front of the bed, finding her bleary eyed and barely conscious when he curled his fingers into her hair. She willed her eyes to focus, struggling to bring her head upright when she saw his fist flying over his length, and she shuddered in bliss as he groaned in delighted surprise when she opened her mouth to him, putting out her tongue.

 “Felicity...”

 She closed her eyes in pleasure at the sound of her name in his voice as his come streaked across her lips, her cheek, her chin. He allowed her to suckle the last few drops from his crown, the bellows of his chest calming a bit before he moved to loosen her bonds and pull her into his arms. He smoothed his come into her mouth with firm but gentle strokes of his fingers, and she mewled gratefully at the taste.

 By the time he'd stretched her across the bed and drew the quilt over her body, she was already dozing, and he stood there beside her, annoyed at the persistent nagging feeling in his gut that there was more to be done. When nothing came to him, he kicked his sweatpants to the floor, stretching out beside her and soon drifting off on an uneasy wave of sleep, lulled by the steady, satisfied sound of her breathing.

 She slept deep throughout the night, adrift on dreamy tides of rolling green and heavenly blue. The sun was just beginning to peek through the still-open shutters when she blinked her eyes open at last, rolling her shoulders and grinning at the aches that ever so slowly made their retreat. She sat up with a drunken sway, hissing at the sting that radiated up from her ass, raking her fingers through the angry snarls of her hair in a half-hearted attempt to pull them free. She blinked above her still-sleepy smile, her brow furrowing a bit as she glanced at the man still snoring softly next to her.

  _Wrung me out well and true he did. Why the hell am I up?_

 She glanced around the house, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the growing light. Nothing amiss, save for their unbussed dinner dishes still spread across the table and the warm, strong hand resting possessively on her thigh. She was pondering lifting that hand and placing it on Thomas' pillow with a soft, secret kiss before rising to clear the clutter when she heard it; the same sound, she gathered, must have roused her in the first place.

 It was perfectly ordinary, but entirely out of place as its roar echoed through the hills.

 The grumbling growl of a well-tuned motorcycle.

 


End file.
